The Silver Butterfly
by Igi
Summary: Think an amalgamation of fairy-tale allusions, with a good dash of intrigue, romance, and swashbuckling. Also included: a tomboy princess, bandits, two handsome princes. Please R&R! *UPDATE* Considerable, humorous epilogue finished!
1. My Birthday

**THE SILVER BUTTERFLY**

_By Igi_

**Chapter One: My Birthday**

"Esmerelda, dear, _don't_ fret around so much! Keep your shoulders straight! And _don't_ sulk like that, it really doesn't suit you, you know."

I groaned inwardly as Her Most Brilliant, Beautiful, but Simple-Minded Majesty pestered me for the hundredth time that day. Well if you had to put up with two hours of sitting in the same posture, you wouldn't be too happy, either.

I would have preferred to stand on my head, or cook dinner for the trolls, or even polish the countless trophies in Cinderella's trophy room. You know the thing: "Best Dancer", "Best Hairdo", "Most Punctual", "Best Footwear," and of course, "Unique Talent for Losing Glass Slippers." And yet I digress.

I was having my portrait painted, and the most dull and boring portrait you or I ever heard of, too. Not only was I wearing _a_ dress, but a horrid, cramping, sweet, pretty, _pink _dress, to boot. I had only this to be thankful for: I didn't have to wear curly white wig, _that_ would have been unbearable.

"_Straighten up_, child!"

I was a princess. My full name was Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, Daughter of the Throne. I was sixteen years old, ready to marry, and in possession of such a stepmother that even Cinderella herself would be proud of.

"Smile a little, Esmerelda! You don't want the princes who look at your portrait to think you were a sour little lemon, now, do you!"

I _felt_ like a sour little lemon.

"Dear, Esmerelda, my darling little dumpling! _Do_ oblige me and smile, you wouldn't want me to get _angry_, would you?"

I grinned. Queen Micedonia _never_ got angry, the worst she was capable of was a nervous fit. When I was little, this oft-repeated phrase used to scare me into obedience; now it was amusing me into it.

"There! See how nice you look. Master," she said, turning to the painter, "capture that smile – I will pay you well."

I felt like the Mona Lisa, and continued grinning. She did _mean_ well, after all.

Master von Amsterdam now bowed. "The painting is finished, your majesty. Perhaps Her Highness Princess Esmerelda would care to take a look?"

I breathed a sigh of relief, and shot out of my seat before you could say "Robinson Crusoe".

The Master's smile faded off his face as I darted right past him without so much as looking at his painting. I was free at last, how could he expect me to want to see how he had made me look like one of my old porcelain dolls, "sitting pretty." No, I had other plans: find my brother, and go into the forest to meet up with the boys.

I jerked to a halt just outside the open gallery doors on seeing the three male figures who were stationed in front of one of the numerous portraits that lined the gallery. I recognised my brother, along with two officials.

"I told you, I _don't_ want to get married!"

"Your Highness must consider – the condition of your father is serious. He may die at any moment. Then where would we be."

"My father is in no more danger of dying than I am. The whole kingdom knows he's an incorrigible hypochondriac."

This was true. He kept to his bed most of the time, showing himself rarely even at the dinner table.

"But Your Highness must consider –"

"My Highness right now has some urgent business to attend to. Gentlemen – good day."

My brother's firm step could soon be heard, pacing briskly towards me. He was a tall, handsome fellow with rich auburn hair with a slight tendency to wave, and as good a sense of humour as you'll find anywhere. He was eighteen.

"Well? Are you ready?" he asked me.

"I have to get changed first."

"Oh? The Daughter of the Throne doesn't want to make her dressie dirty, now, _does she_?" He mimicked.

I laughed. "You know it's not like that. If I showed up like this I'd get a thrashing."

"You just don't want the boys to see how pretty you really are."

"_Redmond!_"

He chuckled, slapping me on the back. "Meet you by the pond."

"The pond it is."

"I'll be waiting."

I left him standing in the hallway, and hurried off to my bedchamber. It was a large, luxurious room, hung with a luscious dark green drapery, very fronds of green-and-gold swathed in elegance. I liked my room; it was comfortable, and not too gaudy. I reached into my pinewood chest for my clothes.

After pulling them out, I slipped out of my dress and unlaced my corset with relief, then slid into my cosy tunic and trousers. I swept my brown cloak over my shoulders, and, fastening it with a pewter brooch, completed the look of a medieval peasant. True, we were in the 18th century, but these were the only peasant's clothes I could find in the attic the very first time I went into the forest with my brother. Besides, fashions do not change so much in the lower classes. At any rate, nobody had ever noticed.

I ran down a few staircases, and tripped into the garden with a feeling of joy and rejuvenation. It was time.

The said pond was at the far west of the gardens, and a considerable walk. And yet, by the time I got there, Redmond still wasn't there. He was late. Well, it had happened before. I amused myself by skipping stones across the surface of the pond. At least ten minutes passed, and he still hadn't come.

I was beginning to get anxious. You'd think I shouldn't be, I mean a prince can hardly get in any danger. But what if the prime minister had bounded him in ropes or something because he refused to choose a bride? I waited a few more minutes.

At the end of the last minute, there was a call from one of the west balconies of the palace. "Elf!"

Everybody who knew me called me Elf for short; everybody _except_ the queen, of course. I searched with my eyes for the place the voice had come from. They settled on the figure of my brother. "I can't come today, Elf," he called.

"Why not?" I exclaimed.

"Stepmama is making me do my studies. You know I have an essay due tomorrow."

"Oh," I said, looking at the ground. "All right," I called, lifting my eyes and voice.

"You'd better go," continued my brother, "the gang will be waiting."

"I'll be right off. See you at the ball!" I waved as my brother disappeared indoors. I started running towards the woods. I scaled the garden wall as usual, and then continued my passage. In ten minutes I was in the forest. I paused to catch my breath and take it all in.

The beautiful fresh air, the thousands of giant pine trees, the birdsong – the freedom. These were the things I loved about the place. There were no restrictions, you could just run and run and run for the sheer joy of it. Everything was wild and unspoilt. I took a deep breath. I was where I belonged.

Just then came a bright "_cooee_?"

That was a signal.

"_Cooee!_" I called in reply. I began running in the direction of the sound.

The calls continued getting louder until I reached a large, moss-covered boulder, next to an even larger, even more mossy cave. This was our meeting place.

A head popped up from behind the boulder, and then another head, and another, and soon all five boys were assembled in front of me.

"_You're_ late," said Jimmy, the eldest.

"I was waiting for Red a long time, and then he ended up not coming at all," I explained.

"Oh really?" Jimmy raised his eyebrows.

"Yes: really." I was getting a little annoyed. Not that I could expect him, or any of them, to know it was my birthday; it was just the way he treated my authority.

"Well, now that we're all here," began Jimmy.

"…All except Red," put in Tom, one of the younger boys.

"We may as well start!" Jimmy folded his arms, grinning. "Tom, pass the foils, will you…?"

Tom pulled the foils out of the secret hideaway and handed them over.

Jimmy distributed them among us, putting down the spare one that was my brother's.

"Ready…steady…take a deep breath…go!"

And the sound of chinking metal was launched into the air.

I was paired up with Jimmy. I did a double take on him, which got me into a good position. I was just about to get a hit when a carriage rolled by on the nearby road.

We all froze on the spot, staring as it stopped just there. The coachman jumped down and opened the door. He extended his hand, and helped a tall, red-haired young lady get out. I say red-haired, but it was obviously just a curly wig, which, however, was no surprise as wigs were the fashion then. She was wearing a cream-coloured lacy dress, and lashings of makeup.

As she surveyed us I felt she was taking everything in, from the shabbiness of our clothes to the good quality of our foils.

She gave a little giggly laugh. "_What_ manners! Don't you recognise a person of high birth?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Bow to royalty, boors!"

Tom snickered. Jimmy gave him a withering look and then bowed. "_Pardone moi, mademoiselle_," he said in perfect French, "we were too – stunned – by your radiant and exquisite beauty."

That was a lie. She had no looks at all; even _I_ had more.

"Aww," she said affectedly, "how sweet of you." She stretched out her gloved hand, and Jimmy went and kissed it dutifully.

We decided to put down our foils.

"I am…the Princess Allelle of Allellia," she said in a sing-song voice, "and come for the ball tonight. Pray – which way is the palace?" Rather strange question, that, considering there was only one, long road.

"Continue along this road, and you'll get to the palace gates."

"Oh, I was beginning to think we'd _never_ get there! Is it far from here?

"Not two mile, ma'am."

"And Prince Redmond – is he in?"

Jimmy turned to me. "Elf, is he at home or has he gone hunting or something?"

"Er, no, he said he had to attend to his studies; that is, yes, he's home."

"But would he he able to see me _immediately_?" demanded Her Highness.

"I doubt it," I replied, wondering what on earth she was getting at.

She turned to the coachman. "Drive on," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

I stared blankly at her.

"You shall now entertain me until the prince will be able to see me," she explained. "But first," she turned to Jimmy, "tell me…what is the prince like?"

"A very fine fencer, ma'am," Jimmy replied, looking amused.

"And is he handsome?"

"Oh, he is a very Prince Charming, Your Highness!"

"I intend to dance with him tonight," she said in a coquettish way.

"Oh you can't count on it," piped up Tom, "he is very selective in his choice of partners. He'd never dance with a goose!"

"How _dare _you insult me, little boy!" she screeched, closing in on him with a murderous look in her eyes.

Luckily for Tom, who was stepping backwards as fast as he could, Jimmy put his foot out and tripped her up.

"How _dare_ you! Ill-mannered ruffians!" she squealed from the ground.

"You old hag," laughed Jimmy, putting his foot on her back to hold her down. He nodded at Tom, who passed him his foil. "Any last words, _hmm_?" Jimmy did a flourish with the foil.

"Jimmy!" I remonstrated, horrified, "Is this a way to treat guests?"

"Stay out of it, Elf," warned Jimmy. He turned back to the princess. "Any last words, Your Highness?

She breathed heavily with effort as she turned her head up towards me. "Elf…Happy Birthday," she gasped, and then dropped, like lead, back to the ground.

"WHAT!" I exclaimed, shocked.

Jimmy took his foot off her, grinning. I fell on my knees and shook her. She got off the ground. I blinked. "_Wait_ a minute…"

"Tom," she said, clicking her fingers with difficulty in her gloves.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Go and fetch the stuff."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Soon afterwards, Tom came back with an armful of things. Two of the boys spread the blanket, and the other three set the plates. Finally, Tom disappeared again and came back holding a three-layer cake.

I couldn't believe it, I just stared.

"Sit down, Elf," said the princess gently. I plonked down, but soon had to stand up again as Jimmy came over to me.

"Happy Birthday, Elf!" he grinned, shaking hands with me. "Hope this will be a good year for you!"

"Thanks," I said, amazed.

Next came Tom. "Happy Birthday, Elf," he said, giving my hand a good workout. "Why do you _always_ have to be two years older than me?"

The other three also wished me Happy Birthday, and then the princess came over.

She shook hands with me silently, and was just about to go when a familiar voice said, "Surely you can do more than shake hands with a _brother_?"

My eyes started out of their sockets. I was dreaming, this just couldn't be…

"_Redmond_!" I jumped up and gave him a throttling hug, laughing till there were tears in my eyes.

"Happy birthday, Elf," he said softly.

I got out of his clasp, and grinned, looking at him. "What a crazy idea!"

"It worked, though, didn't it?"

I collapsed laughing. "It sure did."

Laughter is contagious. Soon we were all helpless on the ground. Indeed, it was a birthday I would never forget. There was a ball that night, a masquerade ball, the only sort I can and do enjoy, but before that something of a curious nature occurred which I will have to tell you first. At any rate, I was not done with surprises yet.


	2. The Fiancé, the Dress, and the Note

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**Chapter Two: The Fiancé and the Dress**

After the surprise picnic, Her Highness and I went home in style. Redmond had ordered the carriage to come back for us in two hours, so we went bouncing down the rickety road, as happy as can be.

When we arrived at the palace gates, a be-wigged gatekeeper who was certainly not lacking in curiosity poked his head out. "Who - who goes there?" He blurted out.

"Princess Allelle of Allellia, come for the ball tonight," sang out Redmond, though his girl's voice was getting rather wobbly by this time.

"Princess Allelle of – where?"

"Princess Allelle of Allellia, you rude person," retorted my brother, trying to sound offended.

"Oh, is that so, then? Pardon me, Your Highness, I've got a bad cold, and it's got to my ears…" The gates swung open. "Enjoy your stay," he said, waving from his little window.

"Well!" exclaimed Redmond as we rolled through the gates and out of hearing, "I do say! Such unmannerly boors! I shall have to complain to the king for keeping such people to welcome guests!"

We both laughed. This was one of those times when I really loved my brother. He was such good company. Nothing like those stuck-up princesses at the Interkingdom College for Ladies of High Birth. Luckily, I didn't go there very often.

The clock struck five. I hopped out, and offered my hand to my brother. Chuckling, he let me help him out. "_Thank_ you," he said aloud, and then muttered. "I do say, these high heels are killing me."

"Next time _I_ say that, you'll actually believe me, then!" I grinned.

"Sure will."

We had arrived in the main foyer, which was about the size of your average hedge maze, which was – big. The multi-coloured, square-patterned marble floor was slippery and served as a very good ice-skating rink. We came skidding towards a quartet of men, and almost had an accident. Good thing we knew how to use our breaks.

"My dear Princess, are you alright?" asked a spindly-looking man in an elaborate purple coat whom I had never seen before.

I gave a slight nod, but he walked right past me towards Redmond without even noticing. I suppressed a giggle as I realised he had taken my brother for me. No wonder, really, seeing as the last thing I looked like was a princess.

"Prince Albest of Arcodinia," he said, bowing deeply.

"Pleased to meet you," replied my brother stiffly.

Great minds think alike. And Redmond and I certainly had a very good telepathic connection.

Prince Albest smiled. "May I compliment you on your stunning beauty, Your Highness?"

Redmond looked prim and proud, pursing his lips. "You may."

"Do you know," began the Prince, "that I am your fiancé?"

"My _what_!" Redmond stuck his head forward like an ostrich, his eyes wide with incredulity.

I started coughing violently.

The Prince turned to me. "My dear boy, are you alright?"

I coughed even harder, hiding my face.

"He's fine, he's fine," said my brother, patting me on the back not altogether very gently, "he's just got a lung condition. It'll pass soon. Ignore him."

"Oh." The Prince turned back to Redmond. "I know it must be a bit of a shock to you, my dear…but it's all settled. Your parents have given their consent, and we're planning the wedding for June."

"Are we?" asked Redmond, trying to sound polite and do some musing at the same time.

"Yes. On our honeymoon, we're going to tour the kingdoms of Trintolia, Thenolia, Telhondom, Taliesinland, Terinwan, Thilrand and –"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but that is going to be impossible," interrupted Redmond.

"My dear Princess Esmerelda – why? It's all settled!"

"My dear Prince Albest," cooed Redmond in an imitative style, "I'm _afraid_ that I am already married."

"My dear Princess – " stuttered Albest.

"My _dear_ mama and papa don't know about it yet, but I eloped with one of my servants last month."

"You didn't!"

"Yes," said Redmond, lowering his voice gravely, "_and if I find you in the kingdom before midnight I shall have to take civil action against you_."

The Prince of wherever-it-was looked horrified.

"You see," continued Redmond coolly, "I wouldn't want my dear parents to have a shock out of it. I feel it is not the right time." He played with a random piece of lace on his dress. "So, my dear Prince, please say nothing and leave at once. It will be the best way."

"Oh yes – yes of course." Prince Albest did a funny kind of salute, stunned, and began walking briskly towards the exit, the three other men following him.

"Be careful, my dear Prince!" called out Redmond as they slipped and skidded down the foyer, "you don't want a broken leg for your next honeymoon with your next princess!"

As soon as they were safely out of sight, we burst out laughing. Redmond handed me his arm, and we went prancing away in the opposite direction. Yet another prospective husband disposed of.

* * *

It was six o'clock. My maid was doing up the buttons of my Puss in Boots costume. I was just surveying myself in the mirror when the Queen came in to do some scolding.

"Oh, _Esmerelda_," she said, "why couldn't you have chosen something _else_ for your costume? This one _really_ doesn't suit you, you know."

I said nothing. I had decided that for my birthday ball I would not wear a dress, and _nothing_, least of all Her Majesty, was going to convince me out of it.

"And what happened to Prince Albest? He was meant to come earlier today…You don't happen to know anything about this, do you?"

"You mean that skinny bloke in the pink suit? He took one look at me and made his exit."

"No!"

"Yes! I guess he thought I wasn't as pretty as I was made out to be."

"Tut, tut." The queen decided she wouldn't upset me by telling me he had been my fiancé, and started going on about clothes again. "This silly black and furry cat costume. It's so unbecoming. And the boots!"

The boots were my pride and joy.

"…The boots are so ungainly! How do you expect to dance in them? My dear Esmerelda," she continued, "why don't you take Mummy's advice and wear the dress I gave you for your birthday? It would look _much_ better. Nancy," she told the maid, "bring Princess Esmerelda's new dress." Nancy curtsied and hurried off.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. I could see very clearly what was coming.

The maid now returned holding the dress, looking rather embarrassed.

"Ah! Here it is," said the Queen, taking it. "This is a very special dress, Esmerelda," she began, holding it up. "So much work has been put into it! The lace is all the way from Chantidom. And the buttons, my dear! Each of them, handmade. The silk is as soft as rose petals. And the embroidery! The magnificent embroidery! The intricate designs, Esmerelda! Especially on the back. Have you _seen_ the back?"

The inside of my cheek was on the verge of bleeding. I could stand it no longer. I turned my head away to hide my smile.

"The masterful _skill_, the doves intergrated in the design! _Look_ at them!" She flipped the dress over. A large, dirty spot was stamped right in the middle of it. She gazed at it, speechless.

"Esmerelda…child…" she eventually said, "what is the meaning of this?"

I said nothing, pretending to be absorbed in trying my mask on.

"Such a work of art – ruined! How could you?"

I continued posing in front of the mirror.

"_I_ know what happened. You've been in the forest with those boys again, haven't you!"

I took my mask off, a mischievous smile in my eyes.

"Those filthy, mannerless, peasant boys! Oh, Esmerelda, Esmerelda! Will you _ever_ grow up?"

My poor cheeks. I was biting the other side now.

"You need to become more lady-like. If you persist in your boyish ways, I fear, yes, _I fear_, Esmerelda, that no one will ever even write a fairytale about you!"

I paused. "I just wanted to show them how beautiful it was…" I didn't like lying, and usually made a point of not doing it, but I didn't want to get Redmond in trouble. "…And I slipped and fell on a slope. It wasn't their fault at all."

She pursed her lips. "I have a good mind to shut you up in the northwest tower the next time I catch you in the forest! Your brother has been warned too. Those boys are not company fit for a future king, _or_ for you. Is this understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Nancy," she said, sighing, "take this to the palace laundry to get it washed, and then…" She drifted off, considering something. "And then, help Her Highness get ready. The ball starts in an hour; we can't waste any time."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Nancy curtsied.

As the Queen walked out the door, I mentally thanked my brother. He had saved my day yet again.

* * *

The clock struck half past. In half-an-hour's time, I would be in the ballroom, dancing, and "being a lady." I had been to masquerade balls before, and usually it was quite bearable. I had forgotten about the fact that it was my coming-out ball, which was the accepted thing, as I was now sixteen.

I was surveying my reflection in satisfaction. I felt sleek in my cat costume, sleek and able. I had a peacock feather in my floppy hat, and a fake rapier hanging from my belt, which, put together, made me feel as gallant as could be.

I paused. Should I? I went over to my mahogany jewelry box. As I opened it, it emitted a beautiful, otherworldly light. Inside there was one and one only jewel. My silver butterfly brooch.

It was a fine work of art, with emerald gems inlaid into those cobwebby wings of silver. I always thought of it as an embodiment of the soul of my mother.

She had given it to me seven years ago as a present for my ninth birthday. She said it would protect me from all evil, that it would be my saviour. I protested that I did not need a brooch to protect me, I had _her _to protect me. _Some day_, she would say, _some day I'd need it_. I leant down to kiss it when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said, wondering who it could be.

The door opened to reveal a messenger.

"Hawkins, what is it?" I asked.

"I have a message for Your Highness." The last thing I had expected him to say, really.

He handed me a scroll of parchment. I unrolled it hurriedly, and took a glance at its contents. I stopped in my tracks. It read:

_Dear Elf,_

_I have something of great importance to tell you. Meet me by the weeping willow tonight, at eight o'clock sharp. Don't disappoint me,_

_Signed,_

_Jimmy_

It was not like him to be mysterious. It was even less like him to have something of great importance to tell me. It was _even_ less like him to want to meet me, alone, at night! I shook my head to myself. What was the world coming to.


	3. The Masquerade Ball

**Author's Note: **_Finally, I have time for another update. Before reading this chapter, though, please check out the end of the last one (The Fiance, the Dress, and the Note) as I added a bit that is vital for your understanding of this one. Thanks. Hope you like it. And thank you very much to my reviewers for their constant support._

**Chapter Three: The Masquerade Ball**

We were outside, waiting for the doors to open. I was nervous as anything, I mean it was my first real public appearance. Redmond whistled a tune, stopping every now and then when there was anything interesting to be heard in the speeches in the next room. The ballroom foyer was filled with all sorts of people in costumes so impressive that I felt almost humble in my Puss in Boots one. For example, there was a girl wearing a swan headdress and a beautiful feathery mask with gold glitter and sequins; another girl in a sea green silk dress, with a scaly emerald mask; and in particular, a young man in a wine-red and cream musketeer costume, with a very fine rapier hanging from his belt.

Just then, the trumpets roared, and then stopped abruptly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our future king, His Highness Prince Redmond Rupert Ricardo, Son of the Crown."

The gold-enamelled doors swung open, and Redmond exited through them.

I gulped. I was next.

"…Her Highness, Princess Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, Daughter of the Throne!"

This was it. The doors swung open again, and I walked numbly through them onto a platform. There was a purple haze of faces below my feet. A sea of them. I felt dizzy, and was glad when I was able to sit down alongside my brother.

The ballroom was very large and spacious, in an elaborate rococo style. It had polished mahogany floor, which luckily _wasn't_ slippery; beautiful marble walls with Ionic columns decorated by chiselled out leaves and flowers; tables and tables of scrumptious food; and, to top it all, a ceiling with paintings illustrating various Shakespeare plays. There was a large cherrywood platform erected at the north of the room, on which we now were.

The compere now moved to the foreign royalty. "…Princess Tara Teresa Seymore of Sophel, Darling of the Stars."

I winced as she entered the ballroom. It was the princess in the mermaid dress. She had been going to Interkingdom College with me ever since I was thirteen, and had gained the place of my divine enemy. She had long, long treacly hair (it was my opinion that she used too much shampoo), alternating between the colour of straw (some call it golden) and white blonde. Her hazel eyes glowed with pride and malice, and she had skin as white as the first snowdrops. Her nose was slim, her lips were cherry red and dangerous. For everyone else, she was beautiful; but I had the advantage of knowing her, which made me wiser. I saw through her, right to her heart; ever since the day she revealed her true colours to me, I could never see her without seeing the serpent within. She would never be beautiful again.

She now sat down next to me as the thundering applause echoed through the hall. "Puss in Boots – how _delightful_," she whispered, her eyes glinting with sarcasm from behind her mask.

"The Little Mermaid," I returned, sounding as innocent as possible, "how absolutely _stunning_."

"You're not being rude to our guest, I hope," asked Redmond softly upon overhearing.

"No, of course not, Redmond," she replied. "She was merely complimenting me on my costume."

I rolled my eyes, and said nothing. The next princess now sat down next to her.

"…Her Highness, Princess Narcis Etherella Lillithia Larissa of Emereldom, Dewdrop of the Morning!"

A swishing and a murmuring could be heard as everyone turned towards the double door. It opened, letting forth a dazzling mirage of a girl in a white so bright it almost hurt to look at her. In her plaited brown hair was nestled a white, glossy, papier-mache swan, and through her gold-beaked mask peered two frightened, deep blue eyes. She smiled timidly as she stepped forward. It was the swan princess.

Tara's lips grew thin, and her eyes burned fire. She had competition.

I let my shoulders slump and relaxed. There was still a long line of seats to be filled up. It would take a long time before there was anything demanding my attention going on. I listened to the announcements.

"…His Highness, Prince Thomas Tolstoy Emmanuel of Arcadia, Son of Greatness…"

Applause. A not-too-tall boy in a Beast costume stepped onto the platform.

"…His Highness, Prince James Jerold Jemereld of Emereldom, King of the Sunset…."

More applause, hearkening the musketeer. I closed my eyes to the drone of the compere's voice. "_Her Highness, Princess Mahata Misika Melanie of Mindia_…"

* * *

"Will Your Highness do me the immense honour of dancing with me?" came a voice.

"Wha-at?" I had been daydreaming again. The setting had changed: I was now off the platform and in the midst of the crowd, which was whirling and twirling around me until I was just about hypnotised.

"Will Your Highness do me the honour of dancing with me."

"Oh…" I searched the air frantically for an excuse. "I'm sorry…but…" _Why_ couldn't I think of one! I bit my lip. "With pleasure," I ended weakly.

I rose from my seat, and we threaded our way through the dancers, then started whirling ourselves.

In between trying to remember the steps to the gigue, I surveyed my partner. It was the fellow in the musketeer costume, and my did it suit him, too. His scarlet satin hat was set at a rakish tilt, and he had a splendid, curly moustache that was raven black. His mask was also black, and all in all he reminded me of the romantic, mysterious hero you find in novels.

"What was your name, again?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Prince James."

"Is that all?

He grinned. "No. In full, I'm His Highness, Prince James Jerold Jemereld, Cuckoo of the Clock."

I chortled. "You keep the time, then."

"Simply, and gracefully, yes."

I stopped, stock still, gazing in horror in the opposite direction.

"Princess Esmerelda – what is it?"

I was silent. The clock read 7:59. I was going to have to run. And on the occasion a princess, let alone a princess like me, has to run, she does it. She does it with the greatest confidence and agility possible. She loses no time.

I lost no time. I forgot about the prince, and hurtled past pairs and pairs of dancers, streaked straight out the ballroom doors, out onto the sparkling terrace, and down the hundred steps.

I darted past shadowy figures, mostly trees and bushes and shrubs, into the night, into the glorious, star-speckled night. I ran and ran and ran, as fast as I could. I looked straight ahead, I flew like the wind, I galloped like a horse, I coursed through the overgrown back paths. I was going to make it.

But suddenly, I found myself tripping over. I found myself falling, foundering, stumbling, and toppling onto the moist garden dirt. I had run into a tree stump.

I got up as fast as I could, and continued to run. It was a lopsided run: I had lost one of my boots in the fall. Nevertheless, I carried on, there was no time to lose.

I arrived at the willow. There was no one, no one. Was this some sort of joke?

Across the lake I made out a figure in the darkness. It was him. It was was later than I was.

I took a breath of the sweet night air. The moon was whole, and the velvet, navy blanket that was stretched across the sky was covered in silver glitter. I kneeled down to my reflection. All was still, save the invisible choir of frogs and cicadas.

The water rippled, and beside me sat a boy.

I looked up. It was the musketeer, not Jimmy! Something sunk within me.

"I believe this is yours," he said, holding up a boot.

"Yes, it is," I said, taking it thankfully.

There was an awkward silence.

"Princess," said my companion, "could you lend me your ear for a moment?"

"You can take both, for all I care."

I think he smiled, but it was so dark I couldn't tell.

"Princess…" he began. "…Esmerelda. I have something I'd like to confess to you."

I said nothing, peering down into the still depths.

"Ever since I first set eyes on you – no. I will not stereotype myself." He took a deep, calming breath. "I have come to care very much for you, Esmerelda, and I have come to ask –" His eyes glittered sadly behind the mask, "if you would someday be…my wife."

I was speechless. It was as if somebody had taken away my tongue. His voice was so melancholy, so soft, so beautiful; it sounded as if someone had distilled all the magic of the night and melted it into music.

I felt a strange compassion for him which I had felt for no other of my suitors. But I could not. I hardened myself, though my voice was yet a tremble – "Prince James, I cannot. I do like you, but I could never –"

"…Be my wife."

I nodded, in agony. Why must I crush him so?

"Believe me, Prince, I do feel sorry for you – I _do_ pity you." The word "pity" had never been in my vocabulary before. "And I even _like_ you, but –"

"I understand," he said sadly, "liking is not enough."

I shook my head silently.

"At least, allow me to take your ring as a keepsake?"

"Of course," I said, glad that I could do at least _something _for him.

"…And take mine in exchange?"

He slid the sapphire ring off my finger, and replaced it with his emerald one.

I watched it sparkle in the light of the moon. It was beautiful.

"Princess…if there is anything at all I can do for you…I'll do it. I would do anything for you, anything you ask."

I began shaking my head, but stopped abruptly. My eyes glittered in the darkness. "_Anything_?"

* * *

Not ten minutes later, the musketeer and Puss in Boots re-entered the ballroom together, nodded, and parted.

Now to execute my idea.

I spotted my brother, who was still dancing with Tara, as I knew he would be, and made my way towards him.

"Will Princess allow me," I asked, cutting in.

"Oh, Prince James!" Tara took me by the hands, "Delighted!" Redmond bowed, and, with a charming smile, departed.

We had exchanged costumes, Prince James and I. It had not been difficult, as he was only a few centimetres taller than me. I had tucked my shoulder-length hair into the floppy hat, and his short hair was hidden by the cat's head. You need not worry about the practicalities – everything worked out fine, thanks to a pair of accommodating bushes. I was a musketeer down to the very last bit; that is, I had his ring, and even the fake, curly moustache he had been wearing. However, he had wished to keep his mask, which was no worry to me as mine was practically identical. I had been rather curious to see what he looked like without it, but it wasn't essential, so I let him have his way.

Now I had accomplished my task of stopping my brother dancing with my enemy (though it may not seem important, it was important to _me_), I realised with a jolt that I did not know the man's part for even one dance. How I did panic.

It was not like I was so overly enthusiastic about dancing that I had learnt the man's part as well; I remember having difficulties even with the woman's. With a lot of effort I managed to get away with merely stepping on her toes every second, which, I must admit, was rather gratifying.

"So sorry, Princess," I said in as low a voice as I could muster, "I am very much out of practice, I haven't danced for many a month now."

"Yes, I do believe the last ball I saw you at was in February! Time really _does_ fly. Pray, how is your sister?"

I had a sister? "She's – very well, thank you."

"I can see that," she gave a little, fake laugh, "for she's dancing with Redmond at this very moment."

I started. "That's his-" I stopped, smiling. My brother was dancing with the swan princess.

Her lips narrowed. Luckily, she had misunderstood me. "Yes, I do believe he likes your sister."

I gazed at them as they waltzed about not far away from us. They certainly made a very nice pair, Redmond in his dazzling silver, moonbeam coat (he went as Prince of the Moon), and she in her glittering swan attire.

I tore myself away and focused on dancing with Tara. "Do you have the next dance free," I asked, hoping the exact opposite.

"No, I'm afraid I've got too many partners lined up already."

"And Prince Redmond – is he among them?"

"You have no need to be jealous, James; I think he's far too taken with your sister."

I thought so too, and felt satisfied. The music now ended, and the crowd disappeared towards the buffet tables.

* * *

My father got up. He was wearing his full regal attire, crown, cloak, and with apple in hand. No masks for him, no sir. Though to confess the truth his king's clothes did look very much like a costume on him – to me, at least – I was used to seeing him in his night cap and pyjamas.

"Ladies en' Gintlm'n, please join me in congratellatin' my eldist – and youngist – daught'r…" – laughter – "…Esmerelda! Happy Birthdee to her!"

"Happy Birthday to Esmerelda!" Said the general crowd, glasses lifted, and then made a toast.

When the various drinks, from wine to water, had been consumed, Father cleared his throat. Oh no. Not _another_ speech.

"It was _six-teen_ years ago, _six-teen_ altoge'er, that this young lady came into this world. And yet, it feels to me as if 'twere only yisterdee! Only yisterdee that she was squealin' in her royal nappies. Only yisterdee that she was eating the crumbs off her plate. Only yisterdee that she pondered over her very first book. And now! Look at her! What a gintel-like young lady. So _elee-ghant _in her costoom. So _refined-lookin'_. Ladies en' Gintlm'n…presentin'…my daughter, Princess Esmerelda! And Happy Birthdee to her!"

The crowd clapped. Oh well. It hadn't been that long. With a little sigh I began to make my way up towards the platform.

I stopped stock still as I saw Prince James coming – or rather, being pushed – on stage from the opposite direction. I had forgotten we had switched places.

I was dumbstruck.

He stood in the middle of the platform solemnly, and then did a magnificent fainting act. Two officials ran to catch him, and a wave of murmuring sweeped through the ballroom as a circle of people stood around him, trying to revive him.

"Kempsey, get some water," said the Queen, waving her silk fan frantically, a smidgeon from fanning off his nose.

"Maybe we should take her mask off to freshen her up," suggested my father.

I had edged towards the exit, and just then made my escape. As soon as I shut the doors behind me, I heard an outburst of laughter from inside the hall.

"Prince James!" exclaimed the voice of my father in the midst of all the excitement, "What are you doing here?"

And a call struck up, "Find the princess! Find Princess Esmerelda!" I hurried down the corridor, up a few hundred steps, down another corridor, and was soon in my bedchamber.

I flung myself on the bed and started to cry. I didn't know _why_ I was crying, it was all just too much for me. My pillow was soon covered in wet spots. I hadn't cried in years.

There was a soft knock on the door, and a high voice saying, "May I come in?"

I lifted my head slightly, then let it fall back onto the pillow. I heard the door creak open (even in a palace you'll find some door or another that needs oiling), and someone walk cautiously towards my bed.

That someone sat down beside me and began to stroke my hair gently. I recognised my brother without even looking up.

He said nothing but continued stroking my hair. No "Elf, what is it?" that would have made me start all over again, but a wordless understanding that did all the good in the world. He understood me, you see, and sometimes it really helps to be understood. Ever since my mother had died, he had been the one who comforted me when I was sad, the one with whom I shared all my secrets.

"Oh, the unmannerly boors!" came the voice of Her Highness once I was a little calmer, "How _dare_ you not smile in my presence?"

That did it. I burst out laughing. "Oh, Redmond!"

I sat up and gave him a bear hug.

Eventually, he said, "They're waiting, Elf – waiting for you to come up and make a speech."

"But I can't go like _this_!"

"If _I_ had said that about Princess Allelle, and thought it below my dignity, would we have had as many larks today?"

I shook my head.

"Then do it. Brave the world. What do you care about what they think."

"What time is it?"

"Not ten o'clock."

"And you think I should go – like this?"

"I do."

A mischievous smile played on my lips. "On one condition."


	4. The Gypsy and the Butterfly

**Author's Note:** _I have completely re-written this chapter, I hope you'll like it. I also inserted yet another new bit vital to the story in Chapter Two, so please read that for your complete comprehension of this one. More edits may follow, as usual, so what you see may not be the final result._

**Chapter Four: The Gypsy and the Butterfly**

The court orchestra was playing one of the music master's new compositions, a gaudy little dance in 6/8 time. Lively enough, the dancers were panting as they tried to keep up, but with so many ornaments that there was hardly a note without some trill or frill on it. They practically never varied the dynamics, the music was continuously loud, and as flat as a mountain terrace.

I had tried to listen to it but it was no easier than listening to a blacksmith hammering at a piece of iron. My thoughts constantly wandered away. I thought of my little speech, which was so amazingly tedious I wondered what had gotten into me, and a few other things besides.

At last, the final perfect cadence sounded, and the orchestra stood up. The music master beamed at the room, and bowed low – unfortunately, so low that his long grey wig slipped right off his head.

I suppressed a snicker. The girl who was sitting next to me, one of my classmates from Interkingdom College, clapped loudly. "Wasn't that brilliant!" She whispered.

I blinked at her in surprise. "You _liked_ it?"

"Yes, of course I did! – Bravo, bravo!"

The music master, whose wig had returned to its original position, smiled obligingly at the applause, nodding his head as if to agree that he really deserved it.

Eventually the clapping dimmed, and everyone started talking. The orchestra had shuffled off the platform, and even the lingering music master had reluctantly slid away. Now there was a fair-haired young man on stage, tuning his violoncello.

He smiled pleasantly at the audience, and started to play a Bach cello suite.

I had never heard Bach played so beautifully before. He put so much energy into it, so much thrilling passion. I was quite put off when my companion remarked sniffingly at the end of the performance, "That was rather dull."

I stared at her for a few moments, and then finally said, "I thought it had all the colours of the rainbow."

"Really? You amaze me," she replied, clapping with an air of indifference.

"Adelheid," I said sorrowfully, "every once in a while somebody does something outstanding. And it seems to me that it is only those people who you regard with contempt and disdain!"

"Well Bach really _is_ out of fashion now."

"The Devil take the fashion! What is the fashion to me?" I exclaimed, my temper rising.

The opulence that radiated from all sides, the idle comments, and the ghastly, mind-numbing gossip were all beginning to give me a headache. Princess Adelheid was just about to take offence in her own petty way when a very uncanny-looking figure appeared at the main entrance.

A servant came onto the platform and whispered something in my father's ear. Upon hearing it, he clapped his hands with a delighted expression on his face. Though he was not what you would call a man with great authority, after a few – a good few –fleeting seconds, the whole room was silent.

"My dear friends," he said in his good-natured way, "I am happy – _very_ happy – to say that…the ent'rtainment has arrived! And at long last, too! D'ye see that woman by the door? In the black gypsy dress?" There was a murmuring from the crowd as various people pointed to the figure. "Well it's her! She's our fortune-teller for the night!" An excited buzzing broke out from the crowd. People stepped aside to make a clear path for the gypsy woman. She went up to the platform, standing next to my father. She was tall, with a somewhat squarish build, and had huge golden earrings dangling from her ears. A red scarf held her snaky mass of black hair in place.

There was a general hustling up the platform steps. Soon a large crowd of people was gathered around her in a very bad attempt at a queue. I joined it, and after a good while, I was finally waiting for her to finish telling the girl in front of me her fortune.

I overheard her say, "…and you will marry a crown prince, oh yes. You will have a very happy life with him. You will have three children. They will all be beautiful, both inside and outside."

"I'm very glad to hear it. But madam, you've only told me good things about what will happen to me. Couldn't you predict something bad as well, so that I'm prepared when it comes?"

"You are such a good person that you will have very little unhappiness in your life. Nonetheless, it is possible to deduct…" She paused, as if in deep thought. "…That you will be separated from the one you love – and don't look at me like that, I know who he is – for a long period of months…before you marry him."

"Marry him!"

"Yes. He is deeply in love with you."

"Who is he, then?"

"He is Prince Redmond."

The swan princess – for she was the girl – gave a little start. The gypsy woman gave a cackle, and a wink of her eye, and then, in her croaky voice, said, "Next!" She gave the princess a friendly little pat on the back that was frighteningly close to being a push, and then turned to me. "Give me your hand," she said somewhat brusquely. I obeyed. As she examined my palm I was at liberty to look at her.

From a distance she looked as if she were something of a fighter woman with two black eyes; but on closer examination, I saw that it was only a thick layer of mascara on her lashes. Her skin was of a brownish complexion; and I must say no great share of beauty had been alotted to her. The distasteful amount of dark red lipstick on her lips made them look monstrously thick. All in all, she had the look of a witch, or a wild woman. Good thing I knew she was nothing of the sort.

"You're a difficult one," she said, tracing the lines of my palm.

"I have been so told," I said cheerfully.

She looked up at me, narrowing her eyes. "Don't get smart with me, girl."

"I never get smart. I'm far too unstylish."

She rolled her eyes. "It is written here…that you have a good sense of humour, so good it's almost bad…a good heart, you just have to use it…a good mind, you just have to develop it…and finally, a good eye, though you can't see a church by daylight."

"Very funny."

Her eyes twinkled behind the mascara. "As to your future, there is very little of it written here. You will have a few political intrigues…your life will not always be as full of happiness as it is now…you will go on a long journey…but enough. Have you any particular questions regarding your future?"

"Hmmm…" I grinned. "What will my husband's hair colour be?"

"Brown. Definitely. Dark brown."

"What colour eyes?"

"Brown."

Thank heavens Prince James' hair was black, and his eyes were…but I hadn't even had the time to see what his eyes were.

"Will we be happy together?"

"Yes, though you will go through many trials."

"What sort of trials?"

"I cannot say."

"On a different subject, what book should I read next?"

"Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_."

"I love that play. But I don't like _reading_ plays…in fact, I don't really like reading anything."

"I know you don't. You prefer the great outdoors, long rambles in the wild, sword fights, chess, and watching plays…yes, and acting in them…to a good book."

"I must confess I've never read a good book."

"High time to start." She lowered her voice. "It seems that your fate will revolve around a certain…yes, I do believe…a certain _butterfly_."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Have you any more questions?"

"Well…will I marry before the year is out?"

"No."

"Thank heavens. Will I meet my husband on a Wednesday?"

"My sources say no."

"Should I have another fruit flan?"

"Yes, definitely!"

I grinned. "I thought so."

"Go to it, then. Anyhow…next please?"

I walked away, chuckling to myself. She was as witty a gypsy woman as ever I saw. Not that I had ever seen one before.

I looked back at her. I was surprised to see Tara advancing rapidly towards my father. She looked angry and discomposed, which was unusual, even for her, and as she whispered something in my father's ear he didn't look too happy about it.

"'Pon my word!" He exclaimed aloud. "And are you sure it's true?"

"Of course I am!"

"Gypsy," said my father, looking nervous as he beckoned her to come to him, "is it true that the fortunes you fortell are mere tales? With no truth or substance in them?"

The gypsy woman bit her lip. "Only so true…Your Majesty…as I am unable to tell you what you had for breakfast this morning."

"You could do that?"

She nodded. "You had custard and raspberries, first course, apricot danish, second course, and you drank water."

The King looked astonished. "Great heavens! So I did!"

"And I can answer any question put to me from any person in the crowd, as well."

Many shouted out, "Me, me, pick me!" but, pointing her finger with her eyes closed, she instead landed on a person dressed in a Puss in Boots costume.

Prince James ascended the platform.

"Prince James Jerold Jemereld," she said in recognition, making an awkward sort of curtsey.

The prince considered for a moment, and then asked, with a challenging look, "What is my favourite pastime?"

"Reading," said the gypsy promptly, "and after that horse-riding and fencing. You also enjoy writing poetry and collecting fine pieces of art, mainly portraits and still life."

James looked awed. "It's true," he declared eventually. "Another question."

"At your service, Your Poverty-Stricken Highness!"

The prince frowned. "My finances do not need public disclosure – they are all in good shape." An approving murmur surfaced from the crowd.

"I merely meant Your Highness' taste for clothes sometimes might suggest a lack of money."

Even under his mask I could sense his eyes were narrowing, as if he wanted to see right through her. (Though I must admit I cannot see the optical advantage of it.) She boldly returned the stare, as if challenging him to ask a question she could not answer.

"How many siblings do I have?"

She cackled, shaking her head. "It is common knowledge, my dear boy, that you have one sibling - a twin sister, Princess Narcis Etherella Lillithia Larissa. What is not commonly known is that her nickname is Nell."

Prince James looked absolutely furious. "If you're so clever –"

"Yes?"

"Tell me: what is my sister's favourite…Shakespeare play?"

"Twelfth Night."

"Ha! It's Much Ado about Nothing!"

"I'm afraid I must disagree with you there. It is _not_ Much Ado about Nothing, though it is still of course much ado about very little; it _was_ Much Ado about Nothing, but only lately she has shifted towards Twelfth Night. But as you like it; it was once Much Ado about Nothing."

"Are you from Emereldom?"

"He's resorting to personal questions!" She cried, laughing. "What could be easier. But I'm afraid I must prick your bubble – I am not from Emereldom."

"Where then, may I ask?"

She smiled gleefully. "Have you ever heard of a sleepy little kingdom called…_Allellia_?"

A strange expression flashed over Prince James' face. He took a step back.

She grinned triumphantly, displaying her nice, white teeth which contrasted dramatically with her dark lips. "But I'm afraid it is time for me to go now," she said, "thank you _very _much for such an amusing time, but I _really_ must go ." And with that, she picked up her skirt, scurried down the steps, and hurried over to the door.

"The amusement is on our side, truly," called my father with a genial smile. She turned back to cast a look over the ballroom, and on catching sight of me, made a face. The doors swung open, and she made her exit.

I grinned. But just then a seething voice whispered something in my ear: "Just wait until I get you back for that!"

I turned, my eyebrows raised. It was Tara, who was quite fuming.

"What do you mean," I laughed.

"You know very well what I mean!"

"No, you are mistaken, I really don't."

"You _tricked me_!"

"Yes, and more than once, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I smiled a winning smile. "If you don't know, you don't know."

Her nostrils flared up, and she glared at me. I stared back. It seemed we were having a staring competition. My eyes were just beginning to water when a familiar voice said, "Tara, Esmerelda – what were you conversing about so ardently just now? I caught sight of you from a distance and I thought – ah, they must be having another discussion. What was the subject that so animated you both?" Redmond, who had pushed his way through the crowd towards us, was looking his very best in his sparkling silver tailcoats.

Tara had arranged her mouth into a very realistic smile, though as she glanced at me her eyes yet darted fire.

"The weather," she said in a voice of cold fury.

My brother raised his eyebrows. "How extremely interesting."

I disguised my laugh with a half-choke, half-cough.

Tara did a nasty little fake laugh. "I'm afraid I must be getting on; my dancing partner is waiting for me."

As soon as she was out of earshot I asked Redmond, "What was that about?"

"You mean…"

I nodded, grinning.

"Very simple, really. I told her that her soul was as dirty as the smoke issuing from a chimney –"

"You didn't!"

"And that, furthermore, her fate was as black as the crust of a burnt apple pie."

"You're joking me!" I laughed.

He grinned devilishly. "I'm not."

"But to be serious…" I tried to stop smiling but I couldn't, I burst out laughing all over again. "…how did you know all that stuff about Prince James?"

"Don't you know? We to go to I.C. together." I.C. stood for Interkingdom College, which, in this case, was short for the Interkingdom College for Young Men of High Birth.

"You never told me that!"

"You never asked. Anyhow, I think I'll go and ransack another plate of pecan pie – will you come?"

"Sounds agreeable to me!"

So off we went to the buffet tables. Notwithstanding the fact that it was long past dinner, they were still overflowing with all sorts of delicacies: piles and piles of cream rolls; a carpet of fruit flans; assorted cakes – chocolate, raspberry, caramel; mouth-watering jam drops; crispy cocoa-filled tubes; and, of course, the scrumptious pecan pie. The plate we took was the only one left, though there had been four of them to start with.

After munching on the pie for a few moments, I caught sight of Prince James, who, alarmingly, was coming in our direction. I shoved the plate into Redmond's hands, and flew off like a frightened bird.

Left alone with the plate, Redmond fixed his eyes on the last slice of pie.

* * *

I stopped running only when I was well inside the dark gallery. I found the portrait I wanted to see instinctively, almost without needing to use my eyes. I looked searchingly at my mother's moonlit face. She smiled down at me; her green eyes were laughing. Her long, beautiful, auburn hair flowed down past her shoulders in charming little ringlets. 

"Oh, Mother," I whispered, blinking hard to keep the tears away. "If only you were here."

She seemed to give me a mildly reproachful look.

"I know," I said, lowering my head, "I should be grateful. I live in a palace, while others my age are working hard on farms; I wear silk dresses while others wear tatters. But what are palaces, what are silks when you have no mother?" I drew a heavy sigh.

That beautiful sympathy I held so dear came right from her eyes to my heart.

"But I'll try, Mother," I said earnestly, "I really will try. I'll be a good girl, I'll try not to be too boisterous, I'll be kind, and thoughtful, and won't mind wearing dresses, and…" I drifted off.

"You've forgotten something," she seemed to remind me.

"What?" I mouthed.

She continued on with her comforting smile. "Try to remember…"

"Oh! The brooch!" I exclaimed aloud. She had always said that on my sixteenth birthday I could pin it on for the first time. "I'll do it right now!" I said gratefully.

A few minutes later I was in my room. By the yellow candlelight I found the jewelry box. I fished the silver key out of my pocket. I gave it a turn, and the lock clicked open. I lifted the lid. The smile I wore distorted into a look of horror.

_The brooch was gone._


	5. Impossible

**Chapter Five: Impossible**

The next day I woke up with a headache. I stretched my hand over to my bedside table, blindly searching for my pocket watch. Eventually I clutched it in my hand and drew it towards me.

My eyes blinked open. The watch read 11 o'clock. I groaned. Though the thing I wanted most in the world was to lay my head back onto the pillow and go back to sleep, I knew I couldn't do that – I had obligations. Namely, breakfast. I reluctantly got out of bed.

"Good morning, Elf," said Redmond once I sat down across the table from him, "How did you sleep?"

"Deliciously, Red," I replied with a hint of sarcasm, "I was dreaming about pecan pie all night through."

"And I about clocks chiming twelve."

I laughed. "Where _did_ you and Nell disappear at that hour, anyway?"

Redmond buttered his blueberry muffin with vigour, his smile growing. "My dear musketeer – and the rhyme is involuntary, I assure you – pray _do_ mind your own business once in a while."

"My dear Allelle," I returned, as innocently as possible, "I must remind you that you have not been minding yours."

"And so each of us minds the other's business. I know. But really…you said you didn't see James with his mask off?"

"How many times do I have to _tell_ you, Red? He wanted to keep it on."

"But he was unmasked before the whole ballroom."

"Yes, but I had just left." I leant over the table. "Why do you think he didn't want me to see him with his mask off?"

"Well," replied Redmond, chewing philosophically, "he's not exactly what you'd call handsome. In fact…quite the opposite. He may have not wanted to scare you away. Beauty-and-the-Beast-ish."

"But his voice…" I protested, "His voice is so beautiful…he does not sound as if he were ugly. His voice…his voice is the voice of a…" I drifted off. "Do you know, every time I listen to him talk, I think I've heard his voice somewhere before, but I don't know where."

"Déjà vu, perhaps," grinned Redmond.

"Perhaps." I grinned myself. "Just think about it, though...acting two girls in one day. For any other boy than my brother, it would have been quite too much."

"What would I not do to amuse my sister," chuckled Redmond, taking another bite of his muffin.

I grew serious. "Redmond..."

"Mmm?"

"Have they got any news of the brooch?"

Redmond swallowed. "Those three have been whispering in a very secretive manner for the past half hour," he gestured my father, the Queen, and the Prime Minister. The first two were sitting at the head of the table, and the latter was leaning over them confidentially. "But more than that I do not know." Redmond now returned to his breakfast duties.

"He's smiling!" I exclaimed, alarmed. The Prime Minister, who had stood up to make his exit, did this so rarely that it was almost always a bad omen.

"But back to James," said Redmond with his mouth a quarter full.

I groaned. "It's _always_ back to James!"

"Back to James," he continued calmly, "surely you remember him at least a little? He was at your eighth birthday party."

"Really?" I exclaimed, amazed at his good memory.

"Yes, along with every other prince and princess from a neighbouring kingdom. Naturally, you went outside to play with us boys while all the other girls stayed inside making polite conversation along with their mothers."

I paused, sweet memories returning to me. "I remember now. It was a fine, sunshiny day. We had a picnic at the other side of the lake."

"And a water fight by the willow."

"And we played hide and seek!"

"And we put a frog in a jug of water and watched Nursey have a fit when it jumped out!"

"And _you_ teased me about my dress."

"I remember your dress. It was pink like the one you were wearing yesterday –"

"_Please_ don't remind me!" I groaned.

"And had so much lace and frills on it that there was hardly room for the glittery letters reading, 'I'm cute!'"

"Mother only made me wear it because Auntie Elsie gave it to me as a birthday present. Oh, how I despised that dress! I got it really dirty during the water fight to show you and the others I didn't care about it."

"You proved yourself immensely. Prince James was entirely won over."

I blushed. "Why do you think so?"

"Because after the party he announced to his mama that he wanted to marry you when he grew up."

"_Redmond_!" I exclaimed, my cheeks growing hotter. I dropped my eyes as I thought of how the prince hadn't discarded his childish resolution. We were both silent for a moment, each of us in our own pool of reflection, gentle ripples of memory washing over us.

Annette, one of the servants, interrupted this reverie as she came in and placed a plate, glass, knife and napkin before me. I nodded slightly in recognition, but I was really focused on what was going on at the head of the table. Not taking my eyes away, I helped myself to a croissant with poppy-seed filling. Annette poured me a drink.

The Prime Minister had returned with a scroll of parchment and a look of triumph. Without much ceremony, my father stood up from his chair.

"I am pleased to say we have discovered – and caught – last night's thief."

"Who was it?" Redmond and I exclaimed at once.

"…Who was it," Father asked the Prime Minister in an undertone. The latter smilingly handed him the scroll.

"Ehem." My father cleared his throat. He unrolled the scroll, and frowned. With something that sounded like "eureka!" he rotated the parchment so it was the right way up. "Ah! Here it is! Jimmy Meralds –"

"What!" I choked on my apple juice, "Jimmy? It can't be Jimmy!" As soon as the words were out of my mouth my stomach gave an unhealthy jolt. I recalled the mysterious note, the appointment he had left unfulfilled. Had he perhaps been trying to get me out of the palace?

"Why can't it be, Esmerelda," said the Queen carelessly as she nibbled nonchalantly on a cream finger. "The Prime Minister will tell you all the facts."

The Prime Minister turned to me."We have all the evidence, Your Highness," he drawled, smiling condescendingly. "He was caught on the palace grounds. We found two things on him." He clicked his fingers, and a manservant laid two objects in front of him. "A purse of money, undoubtedly stolen," he pointed to a brown money bag, "and a foil." I stood up as I gazed at it in horror. It was definitely Jimmy's foil, with its fine leather handle and silver white blade.

"Redmond – say something!" I said, in a state of high distress.

His face can only be described as expressionless. "It's impossible," he said without conviction or the slightest trace of emotion. He looked like a talking statue.

"Yes, yes, it's impossible," I repeated excitedly, clinging to the idea as if it was life itself. "He knows it's impossible, and so do I!" As I spoke I felt a sense of misgiving within me.

"I'm afraid that there is no possibility of impossibility at present," the Prime Minister snapped, "He had the brooch in his pocket. Unfortunately, it was damaged during his flight, and is now at the goldsmith's for repair."

"Elf…you look pale," said Redmond, alarmed.

The Prime Minister ignored him, and now said with a conquering air, "The prisoner is in the palace dungeons, and this afternoon there will be a trial at court as to what his sentence will be."

I felt sick.

"And it will in no case be a lenient one," concluded the Prime Minister, smiling that horrible smile.

I was dizzy, the world seemed to be revolving around my eyes. I sank into my chair, my vision clouding over. I wished I was dead.

* * *

The next thing I knew I was in a horizontal position, staring at a vaguely familiar piece of ceiling. "Where…am…I," I murmered.

"You're in your bed," said my brother, who was sitting at the edge of his chair, looking extremely anxious and trying to smile at the same time.

"I was dreaming?" I asked unsteadily.

Redmond shook his head sadly. "You fainted at the breakfast table, and we had to carry you here."

"Oh," I said absent-mindedly.

"They're trying Jimmy this afternoon," continued Redmond gently, "and they want you to be there." He paused. "Jimmy wants you to be there."

My eyes flickered back to Redmond. "Yes," I said, suddenly feeling almost feverish, "I'll show them!"

"Will you speak out for him?"

My cheeks were burning, my heart throbbing. I gathered all the strength within me. "I will."

* * *

Five hours later I was out of my bed and getting ready for court. Stepmama was pestering me even more exasperatingly than usual. She kept on crowing that she always knew there was no good to be found in the rapscallion, she always knew he was no fit company for our royal blood, and that the rest of the gang was certainly equally unworthy.

I made no answer. Every word she spoke was like a dagger to me, cutting at my breast until the pain was almost unbearable. I almost ripped my black dress in my feverish attempt to do up my front buttons. Nancy was nowhere to be seen, I thought irritably. I slammed the wardrobe door shut.

"...What have I always told you, Esmerelda!" She exclaimed in unmixed delight. "The boy is a villain, a miserly thief! I do hope they'll hang him, it'll be one rascal the less in the world."

I turned on her with a murderous flash of my eyes. "Take that back!"

"Oh, we _are_ upset, now, aren't we? But Mama has always been right, Mama always knows..."

"You are not my mother," I said, disgusted.

Just then, Hawkins came into the room. He handed my stepmother a scroll of paper. "Ah," she said, nodding to herself, "no court today."

"What?" I exclaimed.

"No court. The trial has been cancelled. He is guilty, and your father and I were discussing it, and we thought perhaps that a trial wouldn't be necessary."

"But – how are we going to decide on a sentence without a trial?"

"Oh, he need not stay in the dungeons for any definite time…"

"You mean you're letting him go?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course not! We thought some ten or twenty years, perhaps…"

I collapsed onto a cushion seat. A sudden pain in my forehead made my cover it with my hand.

"But I still do think they should hang him and be over with it." I let forth a small groan. "Esmerelda...are you unwell?" I was silent. "Oh, you look very pale. Let me go for the doctor. With some smelling salts we'll have you up and well in no time." And with that, she disappeared out of the door.

I groaned more loudly as soon as she was gone. I shook my head; my thoughts were making me feel sick. Jimmy – a thief? Jimmy – a criminal? I couldn't comprehend it. Jimmy, my friend Jimmy, stealing my brooch, _the_ brooch? Why? How could he? How was it possible? How could it be? How could anyone steal the brooch, let alone Jimmy? Jimmy, with his chocolate brown eyes, with his perfect nose, his well-carved lips, his rich brown hair? Jimmy, with the appearance of an angel? Jimmy, with the manners of a prince? Jimmy, oh, Jimmy!

What if it was true? What if he _had_ stolen the brooch? What if he really _was_ as bad as they said?

What if – but I shuddered at the very thought. I couldn't let them, I just couldn't. Not Jimmy. He didn't deserve long years in a damp, dark dungeon – I couldn't let that happen. He didn't deserve – he didn't! No one could be so cold-blooded as to even think – or could they? If they could...

I couldn't let them punish Jimmy, whether he was guilty or not. Ten or twenty years in jail! Or even…the reptile! How could she even think – I shuddered. Ten or twenty years! An indefinite time of hopeless unhappiness! An eternity in dungeon…oh how could they…I must stop it. I must.

I took a lantern and made my way down to the dungeons, quavering. Was I really doing the right thing? Was I not revolting against the whole kingdom? But by the time I was standing in front of the prison keeper, I had made up my mind. I was going to rescue Jimmy, whatever the consequences.

The prison keeper was, as was natural to every man of his profession, asleep. I carefully fished the steel ring of keys out of his clammy hand, and ran down a flight of steps which were carved in the bedrock and took me even further underground.

The atmosphere was dank and dreary, immediately upon entering the place one felt inexplicably dull-spirited and depressed. A few spiders scurried up the walls as I made my way down towards the dungeons.

There were a few cells – three, to be exact – in the palace dungeons. They were surrounded by thick, stone walls on three sides, and on the fourth a straight line of strong iron bars, which was where the door was.

I shone my lantern into the first one. There was a slab of rock that served as a bed, but that was all. The second one was equally empty. I held my breath as I approached the third one. This was going to be it.

The light entered swiftly into the black prison cell. I gasped. There was no one in it. Had they perhaps already taken him to court? Without me? Was he perhaps already hanging his head in the shame of his accusation? I shuddered.

It was underground. There were no windows. There was no possibility of him having escaped. On a sudden idea I ran back up the steps and jangled the keys in front of the prison keeper.

"Wha-at?"

"_Pardon_, you mean."

"Oh, Your Highness! Sorry – pardon – pardon me – I was just – just –"

"Do you know your prisoner has escaped?"

"I – I don't know what you're talking about!" He seemed scared. I weighed my chances.

"You haven't had anything to do with this, have you?"

"By my word, I haven't, Your Highness!"

"Swear it!"

"I swear!"

"Swear by that which is most holy to you."

"I swear – by my wife and children! By all the money I have in the world!"

I sighed. "All right then, I believe you." I considered for a moment. "Has there been anybody else here besides me?"

"Oh, sure there has! Two other young ladies come to look at the boy. I must say, he's awful pop'lar with the women!"

"Two other ladies! But – who?"

"I dun' know who and I dun' care about it, nuther."

"Was the Queen here?"

"No, Your Highness."

"What did they look like? Were they perhaps servants?"

"Both were dressed remarkable handsome. I dun' think they were no servants."

"And no one else?"

"Nobody but the Prime Minister, Your Highness."

"The Prime Minister! Whatever could _he_ have been doing here?"

"I dun' have no idea, sorry miss. But he was here alright."

"Thank you." I delved my hand into my pocket and produced a gold coin. "I haven't been here. You don't know anything about the prisoner having escaped. Understand?"

He nodded happily as I darted up the steps.

* * *

Peeking through the keyhole, I ascertained that I was indeed in the right place, the place of the action. The trio was assembled there in its entirety – the Prime Minister, who virtually ruled the kingdom; the King, who was, as usual, dressed in his nightgown; and the Queen, with a colossal white wig mounted on her head, also as usual.

I carefully pushed the door open and entered the room.

"But it's impossible!" Stormed the Prime Minister, rolling up a scroll of parchment in disgust.

"What's impossible?" I asked.

"The prisoner has escaped! I have only just been notified now by a trusty man of mine; the prison keeper apparently said he had seen no one."

"It's the most impossible thing I have ever heard," said my father with warmth. "The dungeon is inpenetrable. The walls are thick. The iron is strong. I can't see how he could have got out."

"He was helped, that's how," snapped the Prime Minister. His eyes alighted on me. "You don't know anything about this, I hope?"

"No," I said in all honesty, "I don't."

"Perhaps Redmond helped him escape? The thief is after all his friend," suggested Stepmama.

"His Highness has been out all afternoon hunting with his friends," replied the Prime Minister bitterly.

"That's true."

"I have already sent the musketeers after Meralds. He cannot have gotten far. They will bring him back before long," said the Prime Minister, though he didn't sound so sure.

"Of course," replied Father, "You're a good man, Percival."

"You can always rely on me; but now I must away, to find out the latest news on the runaway thief," the Prime Minister bowed, and made his exit.

The Queen now turned to me. "Esmerelda, child!" she smiled sweetly, "Do sit down now. I must tell you something very exciting."


	6. Romeo and Rapunzel

**Chapter Six: Romeo and Rapunzel**

Stepmama loomed over me. Her powdery white skin dimpled as she proceeded to give me another particularly angelic smile. Those full, rouged cheeks expanded – her small, grey eyes shrunk even more. I knew I was in for it.

"Esmerelda, dear…" This customary introduction was hardly out of her painted lips when Redmond burst into the room.

"How was the hunt, m' boy?" asked my father in that jovial, confused manner which was so peculiar to him.

"Very good, Father, very good," replied Redmond almost absent-mindedly as he sat down beside me. In the undercurrent of my thoughts I noted how much he reminded me of Robin Hood in his hunting costume.

"What was the catch?"

"Eh? There was no catch, it was absolutely splendid," said Redmond in an off-hand way.

"No – no…I meant…what _did_ I mean…ah, what did you kill," explained Father.

"Oh, two deer, one boar, and several rabbits, that's all," Redmond waved his hand airily as if to say it was nothing.

"Why, that's a magnificent catch! We'll have to have the boar for dinner, what do you say to that, eh?"

"No, no, I'm afraid that's not going to be possible…" For a fleeting moment Redmond reminded me of Princess Allelle. "…You see, we divided the kill between the lot of us, and there was so little for each one that I let Prince Thomas have all of my share."

"Oh, that is a pity. Still, it's very good-natured of you, old chap! I'm very proud of you, my boy," said my father, patting him on the back.

Redmond now deliberately pulled out his pocket watch. "We'll be late for the trial," was his comment.

"My boy, there _isn't_ going to be _any_ trial!" Father wrung his hands. "The thief has bolted! Made a getaway! Broken out! Plainly, _escaped_!"

That marble expression. "You don't say," replied my brother.

"I do! I do!"

"And what has been done? Have the guards been sent after him? Have they got him yet?" Redmond was suddenly very keen.

"Yes! The Prime Minister has sent all five troops of musketeers – all five! – after the dirty rascal, with a perfect description of him –"

"Perfect description of him? What, grimy face, messy brown hair, tattered clothes, and a disposal to disappear behind trees, I suppose." Redmond's laugh had an ironic twinge to it.

"Yes, I do believe it was exactly so. Oh, I wish they would find him!" Father wrung his hands again.

"And they will, depend upon it," said Stepmama calmly. "Now, Esmerelda, dear, I have something very _exciting_ to tell you…"

Here we go again, I thought.

"My dear Esmerelda…let me tell you…oh, won't you be _thrilled_! – Prince James has asked you to marry him!"

"_What_!" I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat.

"And you have accepted!"

With a faint moan I fell back down onto the sofa.

"In two weeks time, my dear…" she said gleefully, "We order the wedding cake."

I screwed my eyes shut. Oh no, not again, not again…

"_Everyone _is coming, Esmerelda! Can you imagine! Even the King and Queen of Shangkok! Coming so far, just to honour you! And all the neighbouring families, of course; King Basil of Arcadia, along with his wife and son…King Osric of Greenlas, of course with his second wife and that devilish boy of his, Kenneth…and of course the Eldorians…" Redmond was looking on with so much attention that I felt uncomfortable.

"But Prince James accepted my – my _refusal_!" I exclaimed hotly.

"Now, now, Esmerelda," scolded Her Majesty, "do be a good girl. It was really very sweet of him to ask you. You know our kingdom isn't _half_ the size of Emereldom. Think – think about all the jewels you will have!" She was animated at the very thought.

"What do I care about jewels?" I said, fuming. "The only one I have ever liked is gone –" I dropped my eyes. "Is gone."

"But you will soon have it returned to you. I understand that the goldsmith should have it ready by Friday." Stepmama smiled triumphantly. "Back to Prince James…you will have a very happy life with him, I'm certain of that…"

I blinked. Hadn't I heard that somewhere before?

Redmond was contemplating me in silence.

"You will make a nice little wife, I dare say…" mused the Queen.

"When did he propose?" I asked faintly.

"We received the message not half an hour ago. It was dated this morning."

"O horrible, horrible, most horrible," I murmured, quoting Hamlet.

"You must send him your compliments, dear. Write him a cute little letter thanking him for becoming your fiancé."

I wondered if I was going to explode. The initial shock had faded out, and now my cheeks burned like hot coals.. Suddenly I shot out of my seat again. "I will not."

"What did you say, Esmerelda?"

"I will not!" I interjected, more audibly this time.

"Not – what?" My father looked anxious.

"Will not marry him!"

"Really, Esmerelda, you're not a child any longer. All the other princes you have rejected…and just think, this may be your last chance!"

"I can't marry someone I can't love! I can't! I just can't!" All of a sudden it began to rain from the dark clouds inside my eyes. I darted out of the room.

My heart was bleeding.

* * *

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. I murmured his name as if it were a magic word that could keep me from harm. And yet even that name, the name that had always been so faultless, was blackened by doubt and anger. Even that name was associated with pain. 

The stars twinkled innocently as if nothing at all had happened. They seemed to be reminding me that the affairs of my world were as insignificant as the falling of a colourful leaf.

It was a chilly evening; my breath created silver clouds of mist in the still, black air. The crescent moon hang in the sky as if it were on the verge of dropping. I sighed, leaning over the edge of the balcony. Why did life always have to be like this.

Prince James, who should have respected my refusal, instead had ignored it and formally proposed. A formal proposal was definite. You couldn't escape it except by throwing a scene.

So I _had _thrown a scene, as usual, and it had bounced off all walls causing quite an uproar in our domestic circle. For once even Redmond had not been sympathetic. Stepmama had sent me to the northwest tower, which was familiar after the countless periods of house arrest I had already undergone. Every time I refused to marry a prince I was sent there.

They were going very strict on me – the dinner I had left untouched consisted solely of bread and water, and my bed was stripped of its sheets. I had been known, you see, to tear those sheets apart and tie them together to make a rope. As a runaway princess I had never been overly successful – they had always caught me before I had got far. This was due to the fact I had gone the wrong way – first northeast, and then north, instead of northwest. They would have never found me if I had went towards Emereldom.

Another gush of self-pity issued from my eyes. Why did all this happen to me? Why me? Why, oh why?

My thoughts returned to Jimmy. Why him? I pleaded silently with the stars. What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to deserve the wretched fate of a robber?

With a sudden pang I realised I liked Jimmy more than any of the other boys – more than any boy I had ever known.

Why had he stolen the brooch? If he needed money, all he had to do was say so. Redmond and I would have gladly given it to him…Perhaps it was a question of honour. He would, after all, have had to humble himself before us. This twisted, ironic idea took hold of me to such an extent that it soon seemed quite certain. Jimmy had stolen the brooch because he had been too proud to ask for money. Too proud. I sighed again. If only he had been a prince.

"Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, wherefore art thou Jimmy?" I said aloud to a company of fireflies.

A complete hush ensued. The glowing orange stars blinked on and off in the darkness. I gently shook my head. What a fool I was.

Then suddenly, a voice, rich, mellifluous, velvet –

Esmerelda, Esmerelda,

Let down your raven hair!

I leant further over the balcony, almost to the point of falling off. "Who's there?"

"That is not important right now. What _is_ important is to get you out of here!"

"Oh, sir Prince, I trust you have not been stealing our radishes," I said mock-coquettishly.

"No: merely cabbages."

Something flexed within me. That voice…

"Who are you," I repeated, searching the blackness with my eyes.

"Get your things," said the voice evasively. "I've got a rope."

I obeyed. I disappeared inside, got a cloth, put the bread in, snatched a purseful of money out of the drawer, put that in as well, and finally threw a dirty cloak that had been hiding in the wardrobe over my shoulders. I was well-prepared, you see, for flight – I always was. I tied up the corners of the cloth neatly, and hurried back to the balcony.

A rope landed on the balcony rail. I secured it, and slowly began my climb down. The crickets were serenading on their tiny violins; the night was suddenly sweet. Hope, that invisible spirit, had returned.

I finally dropped to the ground. A hooded figure stood before me.

"You must hurry," he whispered, "or they'll find you. Continue west until you reach the border. From there on you're safe."

Something round and smooth fell into my hand.

"What am I meant to –" But when I looked up he was gone. "Hello?" No answer. I pushed the circle through a hole into my bag, and, as the stranger was nowhere to be seen, slipped into that black cloak that was night.


	7. Nelly Jane

**Chapter Seven: Nelly Jane**

The morning was glorious. The sky was a canopy of pastel blue; the clouds – wispy white angels of mist. The birds were engaged in a pleasant, melodious warbling, lapsing occasionally into very admirable four-part harmony.

I knew none of this; I was still asleep, smiling in my dreams. I presently began what could be called "a conversation with nature."

"Not yet," I mumbled, my eyes still closed, "Just a little while longer…a little while…"

Chirp, chirp, said the birds. Chirpity-chirpity-chirpity-chirp.

"Tell them to wait…I'm tired…"

Twitterdy-chirp-chirp-chirp. Chirpity-twitter, chirpity-twitter.

"Alright…"

Trilli-li-li-li-li-li-la.

"No, no, the green one…get me the green one."

Tweet, tweet, tweet.

"Thank you. Put it on the bed."

Chipper-chipper-tweet.

I opened my eyes. A blurred vision of luminous green. I blinked them several times before the landscape in front of me became clear.

There was a gauzy blanket of tall, rippling grass that covered the field. A narrow dirt path wound its way through it, and far away I could see gently rolling mountains. Below them was a strip of forest so green it was almost black. On the border of the path grew tiny wildflowers, mostly bluebells and buttercups. The birds were suspended in the luxuriant blue sky as though they were sisters of the snowy clouds that smiled there. The very air had a delightful tingle to it. The joyful silence was punctuated by the music of the bees and other insects, as well as the singing of the birds. It was such a day that made you glad to be alive.

On looking down I was surprised to find myself in a tree, spread over the fork of its trunk as if it had been a velvet couch. It was submerged in the glory of spring, blossoms and blossoms of it, as were the other trees in the small orchard that was positioned along the side of the path.

I yawned, stretching myself, and proceeded to climb down. I still felt rather dazed at finding myself in a garden bordering a meadow who knows where. I had expected to see Nancy ready with my dark green chiffon dress. But slowly the events of the previous night unfolded in my mind, and before five minutes had passed I was fully aware of my present position. My stomach grumbled loudly. With a sigh I got the loaf of bread out of my bag and, seeing as I had no knife, tore a chunk out of it. For a moment I gazed at the bread. It reminded me of one day, years ago now, when I had gone alone to our sacred spot. My vision grew hazy as my eyes unfocussed…

* * *

_It had been raining. The leaf-strewn carpet that was the forest floor was sprinkled with millions of liquid diamonds, and the leaves sparkled as they danced to and fro in the breeze. I brushed past a clutch of pine trees. Soon in view was a small clearing with a moss-patched boulder and a cave. I stepped out of the shade of the trees and, as if by magic, the rain splashed down afresh. I ran for shelter to the cave._

_The inside of the cave was dark and damp; the silver air was crisp and cold and clear. I shivered. Suddenly someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped._

"_Oh, it's only you, Jimmy," I said, with an air of relief. "What on earth are you doing here – in this weather, at that."_

"_I was just about to ask you the same question."_

"_Well I just thought I'd take a stroll in the woods – that's all."_

"_Is it?"_

"_Yes." I felt uneasy._

"_Elf…" His tone was accusatory._

"_All right. I wanted to practise…"_

"_What."_

"_You know we have a ball tomorrow."_

"_You know I have twenty such balls in my cupboard."_

_I laughed. "So I just wanted to practise my dancing steps…you know…where nobody could see me."_

"_I see. Wouldn't it be a little difficult to dance with the air?"_

"_A little."_

"_Well then." He took my hand. "Would mademoiselle allow…?"_

_I broke away from him hurriedly. "I can't dance on an empty stomach."_

"_Why didn't you say so before? I brought this," he said, unwrapping the cloth that surrounded a loaf of bread. He cut a piece with his hunting knife, and offered it to me._

"_Ordinary bread!" I exclaimed, laughing contemptuously._

"_Isn't it good enough?"_

"_No! I beg you would not forget who I am."_

_"I think it is not against the rules of decorum for even princesses to eat plain bread when they're hungry."_

"_But I'm not hungry."_

"_I eat this bread every day of my life, Elf. It may not be fancy palace food, but it's delicious!" Delicious, delicious, delicious…_

* * *

A clear, chiming voice broke my reverie. "Could I have some too?"

I started. There was a girl standing next to one of the trees in front of me.

"I've been on foot all night," she explained apologetically, "and haven't had anything to eat since two days ago." She moved forward rather timidly. "You don't mind?"

"No, no, of course not!" I laughed, handing her the bread, "You gave me a bit of a fright, that's all." I was strangely glad to see another civilised person in the wilderness.

She was tall and slim, like a birch tree, and her thick brown hair was bundled into a loose – and not altogether tidy – plait. There was a certain luminescence about her forget-me-not eyes that made me think of a forest pool in the summer, shimmering as it reflects the azure sky. Her quaint little nose was daintily dotted by several freckles no doubt caused by frequent exposure to the sun. Her light-blue working dress was bordered by snowy lace, which showed she was considerably well-to-do. All in all, a slightly short-sighted person might have mistaken her for a wood nymph who had lost her way.

"What's your name?" I asked her, and, with a little sigh, anchored my teeth in the bread.

"Nelly. Nelly Jane. You?"

"Es–" I swallowed. "Call me Elf."

"Elf – that's a funny name!" She laughed.

"Well," I smiled, "my brother made it up years ago; it's stuck to me ever since." I was surprised at my tastebuds – the bread was much nicer than I thought it would be.

"So it's not your real name?"

"No; I don't like my real name." This was not true – I did like my name. Esmerelda. It reminded me of emeralds, glinting in the sun.

She smiled in her turn. "You're not a runaway princess, by any chance?"

"No," I said quickly, "No more than you are." I paused. "What made you ask?"

"The ring on your finger – it's uncommonly pretty."

I glanced down at my hands and spotted Prince James' ring. I blushed. I had forgotten to take it off. "It's not mine," I explained joltily, "I – I have to return it."

"I see." There was a silence. Buzz, buzz, hummed the bees. Chirpity-twitterdy-tweet, chorused the birds.

"Where are you going?" she asked eventually.

_Oh, geography, why have you forsaken me_, I thought, frantically searching my brain for the capital city of Emereldom. _Aravon…no, that's Arcadia…Dominicum…no, that's Lamingdon…Eldor…no, that's Eldoria…_"Emeraud," I said, praying that it wasn't the capital of Diadom instead.

Her expression didn't change. I sighed with relief – I had got the right city. "I'm on my way to the village of Thorny – we go the same way!" She exclaimed, joyful at the coincidence.

I raised my eyebrows smilingly. "Oh?"

* * *

And so it was that we went our way together. Two hours later, we were well on our way towards the capital. The mellow sunshine of noontide washed over us, painting the surrounding countryside in rich, bright colours.

"So where are you from?" asked Nelly as a big, blue butterfly floated by.

I saw nothing wrong with telling the truth. "Starcastle."

"Really? I have relatives there!"

"Which part?"

"Hoofley."

"Oh yes."

"Have you been there?"

"Oh no."

"It is only a little place; a tiny lower-class village in the south."

"Ah." That explained it. We had not taken lower-class villages as a part of geography class. Lower-class villages weren't, you see, agreeable to any person of high birth. I changed the subject. "Where do _you_ live?"

"In Emeraud."

"I thought you were going to Thorny?"

"Yes, I have to meet someone there, but then I go back to Emeraud to work…What do you do for a living?"

"Oh, all sorts of things – now I cook, then I sew…" I could do neither. They had been compulsory subjects at Interkingdom College but I had usually skipped them; I could see no use in learning how to cook and make clothes when that was what servants were for. "What about you," I smiled. The path was now solidly lined by a wall of birch trees; you could hardly see the green of the meadow through their closely-intertwined branches.

"I sew dresses for the King's family."

"Oh really? They must pay you well!" I tried to sound interested, though the word "pay" was rather uncomprehendable to me.

"The pay is average; I'm only an apprentice in the dressmakers' guild."

"An apprentice? But you're a girl!"

She laughed. "You certainly _are_ Starcastlian; in Emereldom, girls do all sorts of things only boys do in other kingdoms."

"Really?"

"Yes: they call it 'the equality of the sexes.'"

"Does that mean that girls can do subjects like fencing and science and philosophy?" I asked excitedly as a baby hare disappeared into the undergrowth.

She stopped short. "_Fencing and science and philosophy_!"

"Yes; that's part of equality!"

"There's no need for girls to fence – they have to keep indoors, and learn to embroider and sew and draw and paint…"

"So nothing new." I sighed. "I thought you meant that they were really equal here."

"Well, in some ways, yes; it's just we do different things from men. However, we are of equal importance. Young, single girls are expected to work to help their family until they are married. Then they fulfill the traditional role of a woman."

"But what if they don't want to marry?"

"Everyone wants to marry. It's just the thing."

I groaned. "I can't see how so many intelligent girls can let this _happen_ to them! In the upper classes especially: cramped into silk dresses they abhor; forced to talk for hours on end about things of absolutely no importance to them or anyone; required to take mandatory dancing lessons; and above all, to _marry_! Marry men they have no regard for, who will make them slaves – yes, slaves!"

"But they like it. They like being pampered, they like being juvenile, they like being obedient to their husbands."

"They _like_ it! I can assure you they don't!"

"Of course they do. They are brought up to it. Society requires decadence. Society can't have such a thing as real art – it shudders before unconventionality. Whoever is unconventional is a monster, an outcast. Such is life."

"But we can change it! We _must_ change it!"

She gave a bitter laugh. "How can we. You can't just uproot society. Especially if you have no power whatsoever above the times."

"This mass education – this mass schooling, teaching children what's wrong and what's right – teaching them _wrongly_ what's wrong and what's right…it's just terrible. It makes so many like peas in a pod, with no thought to rebel against society…"

"But it's not _all_ bad."

"Perhaps not. But most of it is. The pursuit of knowledge – no, the pursuit of _self_-knowledge – the pursuit of inner depth – I feel it is neglected."

"And so the pursuit of individuality, of high art, of beauty –"

"Of the soul."

We smiled at each other, delighted that we could finally voice our thoughts without meeting with misunderstanding. In the middle of my smile I abruptly came to a halt. Nelly did the same, giving me an inquiring look.

"Did you hear something?" I whispered. My heart had just about stopped beating, and for a moment I hardly breathed.

As Nelly slowly shook her head, it came again. _Eeeeeeeeerk, eeeeeeeerk. Eeeeeeeerk, eeeeeeeerk._

"It's just the branches rubbing against each other," Nelly whispered back.

"No, no…" I held my finger to my lips. We listened attentively. _Eeeeeeeeerk, eeeeerk_, came the noise. _Eeeeeeerk, eeeeeeeerk_. My heart made up for lost time.

"What was that?" I asked breathlessly.

Suddenly the sound of distant voices, of laughter – hideous laughter. _Eeeeeeeeeeerk, eeeeeeeeerk_, continued the heart-chilling sound in the foreground, _eeeerk, eeeeerk_. The next second the branches were breaking…

"Save me, save me," came a throttled cry as a blurred brown figure skidded out onto the path in front of us. I saw it was a boy, not fifteen; his grimy face had crimson lines drawn over it, as if by a pen.

The branches shuddered at the sound of more gruesome laughter. The poor boy lay prostrate on the ground in front of us. "Save me, save me," he whispered, his terror-stricken eyes widening with fear.

The laughter had ceased now – all was still. The silence coated the landscape like a thick layer of lacquer. Until.

A rumbling sound could be heard in the distance. A storm, I thought. It edged closer, and closer, and closer…

Six chestnut horses raced into view. On each sat a man wearing a black mask and a floppy hat. Each man had a glinting rapier attached to his belt. Each had a threatening, dark moustache. Each had a beautiful snarl marked on his lips.

The horses formed a small half-circle around the boy. "Give us the money," growled the foremost man.

"But I have none! I'm only a peasant! Gentle sirs –"

"We are neither gentle nor sirs," declared another of the men in a voice even deeper than that of the first. "We live off the people – the rich people."

"I haven't got three ducats in the world!"

Laughter erupted amongst the men. They shoved each other in the ribs as if they had just heard a good joke. Their laughter was, however, more menacing than mirthsome.

"You have ducats enough. Ducats enough to build a palace of pure gold!"

"Gentlemen, please – I'm a poor apprentice – I have nothing – nothing!"

"Nothing, you say," said one, a nasty grin on his face, "Nothing?"

"Nothing!"

"That – I'll – try!" The man jumped off his horse, drawing his blade.

"The Taming of the Shrew," murmured Nelly; she stood, frozen, on the spot, as if numb with fear.

"Don't you dare!" I exclaimed, jumping in front of the boy to shield him. I seized a nearby stick and waved it threateningly with more anger than courage.

The laughter erupted like lava from a volcano. Scornful, tintinnabulous laughter. I simply fumed.

"My apologies, mademoiselle," said the man in silky, subtly sarcastic tones, "But that is impossible." His lips twitched. "_Move aside!_"

"I won't," I said, "Never!"

"Never, you say! So you will stand on this path here until eternity? Very well then. We'll see who lasts longest." He leant against his horse, whistling innocently.

"It is you, you who should move aside. Leave this poor boy alone!"

"On whose authority?"

"On my own."

Another burst of laughter.

"And who are you to have authority over us?"

I opened my mouth, and then stopped. I could not say anything – if I had, they might have told somebody. The silence was humiliating.

"Well, then." He grinned triumphantly. "Now, if you would kindly step aside, we will be able to get back to business."

I stood, motionless.

"You will not oblige us?"

I breathed in, then out. I turned to face him. "How much?"

"Sorry?"

"How much do you want?"

"Oh, nothing from_ ladies_. That would be most ungentlemanly."

"You said yourself that you're not gentle," I said. "So there is no point in trying to act like gentlemen now. How much will you take to leave this boy alone, I say."

"We _are_ brave, now, aren't we? Well, as you please." He walked slowly towards me.

"How much do you want?" I repeated, though a little less certain of myself as he came closer and closer.

"That ring," he said with deliberation, pointing at my finger.

"I meant money," I faltered.

"Why did you not say so before? We'll take it!" He made a swooping movement. The next moment my bag was dangling from his little finger.

"Give that back!" I said, trying to snatch it back.

"Now what have we here…" He turned sideways and began rummaging my bag. "Here's the money!" A sort of triumphant cawing issued from the men on horseback as he raised the purse to the air. "And what's this? A _miniature_! Of her Prince Charming, I suspect. Look you all at this fine portrait! Is it not like him!" He swiped a round object through the air. I couldn't see it, it was too high for me. "On second thoughts," he said, lowering the picture, "I think I'll keep it as a remembrance of your amiable friend." And with that he pocketed it.

Istill had no idea who this friend of mine was. I had totally forgotten about it. "Will that be all…men?" I asked with forged courtesy. I watched him carefully put my purse back in my bag and attach the bag itself to the saddle of his horse.

"No. We'll have that dress as well," he adjoined gruffly, pointing his finger at me.

"My _dress_?" I exclaimed, horrified. Calming myself, I considered for a moment. "But you can't expect me to wear…nothing at all!"

"Usually we are not so obliging, but we _do_ happen to have some clothes here…a common working dress that we have no use for. Here it is," he passed me the brown dress that had been strapped to the back of his horse.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "Now turn around."

There was a massive shuffling sound as the five horses turned around. The man who had given me the dress turned around likewise after he had walked even further away from his horse.

"It might take me a while," I explained, frantically gesticulating at Nelly at the same time, "I can never undo my buttons quick enough." I shoved Nelly forward and hurriedly helped her onto the unmanned horse. "Oh dear, if I do this any faster I'll rip my dress…" The boy had silently got off the ground and now proceeded to hop on as well. "I'm almost finished," I said as I mounted the horse myself, "almost done…"

Bang. The thunder of hooves exploded again as I gave the horse a sharp hit on the side. The birches were suddenly blurred lines, the ground a fuzzy brown mass. We shot through the lane like a magic frisbee.

"E-e-elf…" Nelly's voice jumped up and down behind me, distorted by the galloping movement of the horse.

"Ye-e-es?"

"They're be-e-e-hi-i-i-i-ind u-us!"

I turned around. So they were. The five other horses were making a steady gain on us. Their men looked more intimidating than ever.

I gritted my teeth. "_Hold – on_."


	8. The Interkingdom Herald

**Author's Note: **_I'm really busy nowadays, exams coming up, so there may be fewer updates. Anyway, I hope you'll like this chapter...it's rather sketchily done, but I'll revise it later._

**Chapter Eight: The Interkingdom Herald**

The ground whirled beneath the horse's feet. The trees flew by like so many frightened birds. But most of all, the five horses behind us were coming closer.

We had reached the forest; the sun shone through the strangled branches with otherworldly beauty. The wide dirt path was bordered by ferny undergrowth and there were pine trees scattered in a haphazard manner on both sides. The drumming sound of horses' hooves had interrupted the silent singing of the forest…

There was no time to think – all I knew was that we had to escape the masked men. They were furious – their very horses were furious. Those horses' eyes rolled as their manes fluttered wildly in the winds of torment. The air was filled with the sound of whinnying.

The forest thickened. The trees became ominous black pillars, spectres foreshadowing doom. The visible ferns transformed into a carpet of poison. We ascended a hill, and abruptly, the trees thinned out again, on one side almost entirely. I was vaguely aware of the cool spring breeze tickling my hair…

I turned to look at the horses following us. They seemed to be nearer than ever before. I felt sick. I looked ahead, my eyes fixed on the rollicking panorama before me. I shuddered convulsively. It was a beautiful day.

A large intersection loomed up in front of us. I leant to the right, hoping to throw them off. Glancing backward, I could see no one. My relief was short-lived. As I looked ahead again I uttered a voiceless cry.

Two musketeers on white mares.

My horse hurtled to a halt.

Their crest was Starcastlian.

I was doomed.

"Hello there!" Exclaimed the one on the left – politely enough, really. "Nice day for a ride, is it not?"

"Yes, yes, very nice," I said, anxiously looking back. The road behind us was apparently deserted.

"You don't happen to be…" began the other.

"No – no, it's just a resemblance," I interrupted.

"I don't think so," he replied, frowning.

"You don't mean it's –" exclaimed the first.

"I do believe so!" said the second excitedly.

"Marvellous!" grinned the first.

"Fantastic," added the second.

"Brilliant!" ejaculated the first.

"Wonderful!" sighed the second.

They gazed at me, awestruck.

"No, no, let me explain," I said hurriedly, glancing back with growing apprehension, "We were born on the same day. We're look-alikes. We – we grew up together like – like two eggs. But I'm not her. I'm definitely not her!"

"_Don't_ be nervous!" said the first musketeer jovially. The second gave me an encouraging smile.

"Wait till Auntie Elisha hears of this!" he said.

"Wait till she _sees_ her, more like," added the second.

"Auntie Elisha? Who's…" But I was interrupted by the clatter of hooves. Five chestnut horses appeared from around the corner. Five chestnut horses skidded to a stop. The five men riding them stared as if they had just glimpsed a genuine glass slipper.

The musketeers were likewise hypnotised. For at least three minutes the two groups stared at each other as if they had been turned to stone. Finally, the musketeer on the right drew his sword. The musketeer on the left did likewise.

"Oh _please_," sneered one of the men, "You think we'd wave a sword against you? Old friends as we are?"

"You managed to escape us last time," said the second musketeer with the kind of anger that can be likened to cold fire, "But this time you won't."

I expected another bout of that horrific laughter of theirs, but none came. It seemed the position was far too serious. "What?" Exclaimed another of the men, "You two against the six of us!"

"Five," retorted the musketeer.

"No, six. On that horse in front of you, whom do you see?"

"Two young ladies and a boy."

"The boy is one of us. And yet I speak not of him. He has betrayed us!" He accompanied the last sentence with a threatening gesture as if to indicate the consequences.

"If not the boy, who then?"

"The young lady in front, with the emerald ring. She is…"

I drew a sharp breath.

"…a thief! Her name is Amanda Curraway." That sentence struck me like a lightning-bolt; I staggered backwards. "She comes from a family of bandits up in the north. The ring is a stolen one. She dyed her hair – it used to be blonde. You should have known better, Amanda. Your dirty tricks don't work on us…you thought we wouldn't recognise you, didn't you! But we always do. Every time…every single time. We are, after all, the only friends she has in the world. I hardly need mention she is bound to us in all honour and duty."

"Liar!" was the only word I could muster.

"It is true," affirmed the man in a cool, distant baritone.

"I'm afraid that cannot be true, sir," said the first musketeer, equally coolly. "This young lady is our cousin, Lidia of Lettham."

"_Lidia of Lettham!_" chorused the men.

"Of Lettham, yes. She got lost years ago," he continued, "We – my brother and I – travelled around Europe for five years in search of her – five fruitless years," he added in melancholy overtones. "We joined the service of King Matthew of Starcastle during this time…it was a flexible job, and we needed the money. We went on diplomatic journeys as far as Mindia – still searching, but in vain. We thought we'd never set eyes on the dear creature again. But now – at last! – we've finally found her!" His eyes joyfully lighted on me. There was even a tear or two in their corners. I wondered if the whole world had gone mad.

"I'm sorry to say it," came a voice from behind me, "but you're all wrong." The boy we had saved jumped off the horse. "She is a princess," he said with deliberation.

"A _princess_?"

"Yes, a princess."

"A very fine princess!" snorted the foremost masked man.

"She's our cousin!" insisted the musketeers.

"She was born in a palace," added the boy.

"She was born in a shanty!" snarled the man.

"She was born in a garden!" exclaimed the musketeers.

"She deserted us!" hissed the man.

"She got lost!" cried the musketeers.

"She has been kidnapped!"

"She has been _kidnapped_?"

"Technically, yes." The boy reached into his pocket and, after a good deal of rummaging, pulled out a large scroll of paper. "I have it on the authority of The Interkingdom Herald – I'm a newspaper boy, you see –"

"A goblin is more like it!" sniffed another of the men. I must confess he made me think of one; his mousy brown hair was thick and tangled, and his large grey eyes shined like those of a woodland spirit. His voice was shrill and piercing, and tinted slightly by a foreign accent.

"My name is Peter Markovski," continued the boy, "and I know better than any other what Princess Esmerelda looks like." He unrolled the newspaper. I glanced at the front page: the big, bold letters announced the title "MM kidnaps royalty".

"The Herald states that, late last night, Princess Esmerelda was kidnapped," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Kidnapped? Wouldn't we know something about it?" wondered the second musketeer.

"Exactly what I was going to say, Gilbert," exclaimed the other.

"Great minds think alike, Jeremy," shrugged Gilbert.

"How _could_ you know, without perusing your daily newspaper," said Peter, "Which, it seems, you have dutifully neglected…the whole palace of Starcastle might have burnt to ashes by now, and you would not have known a thing. It was, of course, rather unfortunate that all five troops of you musketeers were sent after the runaway robber early in that very day…"

"_Very_ unfortunate," chuckled the foremost masked unpleasantly. "The whole five troops! To think they'd make such a fuss about one lad, unschooled in the art of robbery. It's as if they were scared!"

The other four men joined in the laughter. "Hoodley's right. And now they've got it! No one to send after their _dear_ Royal Highness Princess Esmerelda."

The laughter doubled.

The two musketeers looked embarrassed.

"Anyone care to read it?" Peter put in tentatively, still holding up the newspaper.

"I will, thanks," I said, doing my best to ignore the laughter in the background. He handed me the paper.

"Read it aloud," he suggested.

The laughter died away, and I began reading…

_Last night, in the small kingdom of Starcastle, two persons disappeared under the most peculiar and alarming circumstances. These persons were none other than His Highness Prince Redmond Rupert Ricardo and Her Highness Princess Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise. Private investigators pronounce it kidnap._

_At approximately midnight, a servant, Nancy Oringstone by name, was woken by strange noises. The noises came from the area of the Northwest Tower, where the princess had been under house arrest. Mrs Oringstone took the keys to the tower and made her way up. The room was empty. There were no signs of escape having been made, and yet the princess was nowhere to be found. Oringstone woke the rest of the palace with an impressive scream. _

_"I didn't know what to think," she said, still huffing with fright early this morning during her interview with The Herald's editor-in-chief, Charles de Blanc. "It was as if fairies had been at work. I'm very superstitious – personally I think there was magic involved." _

_I__f it had not been for the uncanny disappearance of Prince Redmond, the authorities would have suggested the Princess had run away, as she has attempted previously. She had wanted to reject His Highness Prince James Jerold Jemereld of Emereldom, who had made her an offer of marriage that very morning._

_Worst fears were confirmed when it was discovered Prince Redmond was missing also. His room, like the tower, was completely untouched, however there was a small slip of paper on his bed._

_On this paper was written one word: "ransom". It was signed "MM" and sealed with a blank seal._

_Nobody knows who or what "MM" signifies, but experts state it may be the initials of a criminal orginisation of some sort._

_More on page 7._

My hands were by now trembling violently. I slowly lowered the newspaper.

"So Princess Esmerelda was kidnapped," said Jeremy. "That proves nothing."

"Besides, wouldn't she be with her kidnappers?" added Gilbert.

"Good point, Gilbert," nodded Jeremy.

"Thank you, Jeremy."

The two musketeers looked rather pleased with themselves.

"That was just general information…my real grounds for thinking this young lady here is Princess Esmerelda are –" he delved his hand into his pocket again, "…in here_ somewhere_…" After fumbling for a while, he finally pulled out a round object which he held up with a triumphant grin.

I gasped. It was the miniature portrait Redmond had painted of me the year before, and astoundingly like me, too. I was wearing a simple, green dress, with a crown of dandelions nestled in my hair.

"Wherever did you get her portrait?" blinked Gilbert, spellbound.

"The Royal Gallery, number 56, Oakleaf Avenue, Emeraud," replied Peter.

Gilbert opened his mouth to say somethingbut just then a stocky, yellow pony cantered into view. On it sat a large, red-headed, red-faced man in a blue frock.

"Markovski!" he boomed, "There ye are! I've been all over for ye!"

Peter blanched. "What is it, Mr Bloom?"

"Ye doan' happen to know where the maister is, do ye?"

"Y-yes, he – he's further down the road…it's not far…I'll take you to him," he said, eyeing me rather alarmedly.

"Alrighty…hop on, then," said the man, patting the back of the horse.

Peter clambered on, and the pony continued on at the same, steady pace.

I opened my mouth to say something – anything – but was interrupted by the roar of trumpets, and the sound of dogs barking.

"Did you hear that?" Hoodley grunted.

"Yes…" replied the other men in unison.

"It's the royal hunt," observed Jeremy.

"Or is it?" Gilbert paused, listening.

"They could be…" began Hoodley with far less assurance than usual.

"…Looking for someone." The men eyed each other. I froze. "A few someone's."

"We – we'd better go," spluttered Hoodley. "It's been awful nice talking, but – but – well we have work to do. Amanda, we'll catch up with you later, you mind that! Giddyup!" And with that, he spurred his horse on, the other four closely following him.

"What cowards!" exclaimed Jeremy as they vanished around the corner.

"After them!" ejaculated Gilbert as the sound of hooves died away.

"Follow us, Lidia! We can have our reunion time afterwards. This is important!"

"They must not escape!"

And so it was that the two musketeers galloped off after them, leaving the horse, Nelly, and I left alone in the small clearing.

After a moment of consideration, I rode off in the opposite direction.

That was a mistake.


	9. The Forest of Ardendale

**Chapter Nine: The Forest of Ardendale**

The cool breeze stroked the long blades of grass in the way a musician would stroke the strings of a harp, and the signpost that was wedged into the soft brown dirt pointed in four separate directions. We were at the intersection again – I had stopped to check which way would be wisest to go. I sighed, pacing the forest floor agitatedly. "Would it be better to go via Waterton or Dancy?"

"Dancy's closer," replied Nelly, upon some meditation. "Then we can get to Thorny from-" But she stopped, giving me an inquiring look. I had frozen, pressing my forefinger to my lips. There was a rustling of leaves, and suddenly voices came from behind the bushes.

"…Where is she?" said the first speaker in an undertone.

"Tah Interkingdom Hotel."

"Does she know where I am?"

"No, sir."

There was a pause.

"It can't be helped. Bloom, hurry back as fast as your…_horse_…can carry you. Tell her I am coming. Meanwhile, Peter – see to it that your charge is taken care of. Your charge_s_, that is. I don't want anything to go wrong – understand?"

"Yes. Don't worry, you can rely on me."

"And the portrait?"

"Safe."

"The two musketeers?"

"Detoured. I'll tell you more about what happened later."

"Good. Just make sure they don't make any trouble. The rest I'll manage myself. I trust you, Peterkin."

If they said anything more, we did not hear them. The roar of trumpets pierced the air afresh, consuming all else in shrill booms of sound. As they paused, the sound of barking dogs and thumping hooves filled the forest. Swiftly appearing from around the corner was a veritable flood of horses, seething towards us.

It was not the royal hunt. It was something much worse.

_A whole troop of musketeers. _They were all dressed in the same royal blue, the crest of Starcastle imprinted colourfully on each man's right sleeve. Their cobalt felt hats created a contrasting effect with their hair, which was in most cases blond, as was common in Starcastle. From a distance each man looked like the other; their uniforms only increasing the vision of sameness further.

At the horses' feet was a sea of dogs - bloodhounds, beagles, boxers – all racing forwards, and making an awful racket, too. The four musketeers in front held trumpets to their mouths using one hand and gripped the reins with the other. They could have been straight out of the circus, doing a balancing act like that. It is needless to say that they only added to the noise.

I galvanised my numb hands into action, pulling my hood over my eyes as they rumbled towards us. Suddenly the dogs stopped barking, the horses stopped galloping, and the trumpeters stopped trumpeting. "You there!" exclaimed the head of the troop,. "You haven't seen a boy pass through here, have you?"

"No," I replied, my blood scurrying to my cheeks.

"Are you sure? He has…" he pulled a piece of parchment out of his satchel, almost tearing it apart in his hurry. "…A grimy face, messy brown hair, and tattered clothes. He's about…seventeen years of age…are you really sure? No? No one?" I continued shaking my head as I had been for the last few sentences. "He's a thief, you see…we almost had him earlier on, but then suddenly he disappeared behind a tree and we lost him. So you haven't seen him?" I shook my head again so violently that my hood fell down.

There was a general gasp.

"'Pon my word! It's Princess Esmerelda!" exclaimed the general, a flush of surprise on his pale features.

The crowd of musketeers buzzed excitedly. "What's she doing here?"

"Wasn't she supposed to have been kidnapped?

"Where did she get that horse?"

"And who's that behind her?"

"Silence!" ordered the general. "However she came to be here, three of you must accompany her home."

"I'm afraid, sir, that is not going to be possible," said a voice. Peter stepped up from behind a tree, folding his arms calmly.

"Not – possible?"

"Not possible. This young lady," he indicated me, "is my sister."

"_Your_ sister!"

"Yes."

"This is most amazing," exclaimed the general, not without a hint of sarcasm. "For Princess Esmerelda only has one brother."

Peter put on a puzzled look. "What does _she_ have to do with it?"

"Foolish boy! This young lady here _is_ Princess Esmerelda!"

"I told you she's my sister!"

"Prove it!"

Peter delved his hand into his pocket. "Here's her portrait," he said, displaying the same miniature he had used to prove I _was_ a princess earlier that day. "This is the portrait my cousin painted of her recently. My cousin's name is Master Red of Thorny. His name is written on the back," – he flipped it over – "Where is also written _her_ name: Elf."

"Show me," said the general. Peter passed him the portrait. "You're very clever, young man," he said, pondering the writing carved in the back of it, "but these deductions you make-"

"They're not deductions!" cried Peter passionately, "She's my sister! I tell you, if you take her away, you are doing her an injustice! She is not Princess Esmerelda! She's not! She's my sister!" And he began to sob in such a heartrending manner that even the general was moved.

"Alright, there's no need to get upset about it," he replied, somewhat more gently.

"You'll not take her away then," gasped Peter in between his sobs, "Like some gypsy vagabond? You'll not take her away?"

"Calm down, my boy! Of _course_ we won't take her away!"

Peter abruptly stopped crying. "You won't?"

"If you wish it!"

"Oh sir, you are so kind! Your benevolence is truly godly!" And the boy was all smiles, gurgling like a contented baby. "So miraculously kind! My sister and I – we're – we're orphans – we only have each other in the world! If you took her away…but you are kind, so kind, so very kind!" I believe Peter would have kissed the general's _shoe_ had it been near enough. He continued on blubbering – laughing and crying by intervals.

The poor general stared as if the boy had just turned into a talking toadstool.

"…Your compassion, sir! 'Tis angelic! You – you do not know what it would mean if you tore us apart. We would both _die_! Oh you are so, so very generous, General!"

"Alright, alright," interrupted the same generous general somewhat brusquely. "Here's the picture back…And since you so wish it, you may stay with your sister."

"You are so…"

"Enough of that. We are in a hurry. You haven't seen a lad of about seventeen, with messy brown hair and tattered clothes, by any chance?"

"Yes sir," said Peter simply.

"You _have_!"

"Yes sir, I have."

"Well don't just stand there looking at me, boy – which way did he go?"

"I believe it was that way, sir," replied Peter innocently, pointing in the direction of Waterton.

"How long ago did you see him?"

"Not five minutes ago, sir."

"Five minutes!" A sudden excited animation came over the general's face. "We shall catch him yet! Forward, men!"

The dirt swelled in the air as the countless horses stampeded away. The sound of dogs barking and trumpets roaring receded into the distance. Nelly, Peter, and I were left alone with the trees.

"One good turn deserves another," explained the boy, smiling good-naturedly at my evident surprise.

"But – but – you – you're…" I searched the air for a word, but found only the remnants of dust.

"Peter Markovski. I've told you that."

"But you're not her brother," blinked Nelly.

"Of course not! We're not related at all! Tell the truth, I haven't even seen her before today. I must thank you so much for saving me," Peter fixed those large grey eyes of his on me, "I might have not been alive now had it not been for you."

I shied away from his look, turning to Nelly. "So we're going via Dancy, aren't we?"

"Yes, via Dancy."

"Do you think you'll be alright from here?" I asked Peter, trying to sound friendly.

"Definitely," he grinned. "Especially with you two for company."

"Us?"

"I'm going to Dancy too!" There was such a triumphant ring to his voice that I knew our fate had been sealed.

"Alright," I said, resignedly, "hop on."

* * *

Two days passed, and we were still on the road to the capital. The signs announced Emeraud at every turn, but we could have just as well been going backwards. Thorny still wasn't on the signs; Nelly assured me that it was on the way to Emeraud, and furthermore of so little consequence that it wasn't even on the map.

Every night we spread out some clothes on the forest floor and slept, wearied by our long ride. Gloomy spirits were in the air, waiting to cave in on us like black smoke. Luckily, they never did, because there was always Peter to make us laugh.

I never ceased being wary of Peter – since the time we had overheard him and the other two men talking I was unnaturally suspicious of him. I scented some conspiracy, some trap that would catch me and Nelly, like two unsuspecting flies, in a sticky net. But Peter never showed any signs of malice or ill-humour – quite the contrary. He was our guardian knight – gallant, brave, and comical besides.

I confess I was very impatient by nature, and our slow progress tantalised me extremely. It was perhaps for this reason that, in spite of my companions' remonstrances, I took a different turn that I thought might be a shortcut.

How wrong I was. The path was narrow and jaggy, covered by slippery pine needles. Mountainous, black boulders cast dark looks on us as we passed. The sky that peeked from in between the dense forest was a sombre grey.

"I think this is the wrong way," moaned Nelly from behind me.

"You've already said that," I winced, "Twenty-eight times!"

"And every time it becomes more true. Come, _do_ let's go back!"

A curtain of mist shrouded the trees in the breath of living vapour. They swayed to and fro, the wind sighing through their branches. Their leafy boughs were green, gloved hands, groping at the sky that wasn't there. They became lost in the ever-growing cloud.

"Even if we wanted to go back," said Peter's voice, "we wouldn't be able to."

"Why not?" exclaimed Nelly and I simultaneously.

"Because," replied Peter, gravely, "there is no way back."

"No way back?"

"See for yourself."

Nelly and I looked backwards, and to our horror, the mist – a white monster – had consumed all of the forest behind us. Meanwhile, it was swiftly descending on us from the other side.

"Oh no," I groaned, "as if things weren't bad enough! All we need now is a wicked witch to come and enchant our horse!" As if by magic, just as I said it the horse stopped short. "I didn't mean it!" I exclaimed, "I didn't _really _want a wicked witch to enchant the horse! Giddyup! Come on!" But all it did was paw the ground, sniffing the dense, white air.

"I suppose this is a sign never to talk lightly of such serious matters as magic." Peter let out a long, melodramatic sigh.

I rolled my eyes. "How old are you, Peter?"

"Fourteen, why?"

"Because you should be old enough not to believe in fairy tales."

"But most are based on historical fact! Take Rapunzel, for example. During the fifteenth century there really _was_ a woman with very, very long hair who was locked up in a tower…"

"She wasn't the only one," I interrupted. "There have been plenty of girls locked up in towers in human history."

"Was she really called Rapunzel?" wondered Nelly.

"No, her name was Emma and she was forty years old and…let's just say rather plump. She got locked up for stealing radishes from the neighbours' garden."

"I thought it was cabbages," I muttered.

"No, radishes. It was here in Emereldom, in fact. The statistics say that Emereldom is the kingdom that inspires the most fairy tales. Cinderella was a nun of the Dark Ages who spent her most of her life praying for her father's soul – he died of the plague. What is not commonly known is that the stepmother and stepsisters died soon after him of the same cause and so poor little Cinderella became a wealthy heiress."

"You're making this up," laughed Nelly.

"Upon my honour as a gentleman I'm not!"

"A very fine gentleman," I said, secretly grinning.

"You need not be so out of humour, Elf," said Nelly, "I know all this mist is a little depressing…but it's not the end of the world!"

"It sure _looks_ like it," I observed grimly as the mist in front of us cleared.

"Oh no," she wimpered.

"By James!" Peter sounded terrified.

"It must be a nightmare," breathed Nelly.

"No wonder the horse has stopped," added Peter in a choked whisper.

We were, you see, standing on the edge of a tall, steep, rugged, rocky, black cliff.

The view was excellent.


	10. Black Magic

**Author's Note: **_I hope this isn't too long-winded (or boring), butas I'm extremely busy it's the best I can offer at the moment. From now on updates will probably be longerbut less frequent...Anyway, I hope it's not disappointing and will do my best to update again as soon as mortally possible. See my profile for more information on the story._

**Chapter Ten: Black Magic**

Far below us there was a vast, curvaceous valley, shaped in the style of a graceful Grecian bowl. The infinite white sky merged almost imperceptibly with the liquid mist and the black fir-trees beneath it. The sharp cry of a hawk pierced through the thick, humid air like a knife.

The impact of the sweeping panorama made me feel dizzy. Those clouds of mist looked like silver angels from heaven.

In heaven we could have been. The horse suddenly reeled high into the air, knocking a few rather large pebbles off the ledge.

Nelly shrieked, Peter squealed like a frightened guinea pig, and I caught the reins I had dropped – just in time.

"That was close!" puffed Nelly as the horse swiftly showed that it was, indeed, capable of walking backwards.

"Yes," agreed Peter nervously, "it was."

"Surely we'll turn back_ now_, won't we, Elf?"

At any other time I would have stubbornly continued forward. But just this once I did _not_ feel disposed to join the pebbles in an undoubtedly scenic ride down to earth.

"Come on! Turn around," I urged the horse. We were still only a few metres away from the cliff.

The horse wouldn't move. My stomach dropped.

"Chessnut, turn around, please," said Nelly's voice gently, soothingly.

And – lo and behold! – the horse turned around.

"She has _such_ a way with animals," exclaimed Peter, with mock sentimentality.

"Walk on," I shook the reins. The horse trotted away from the cliff obediently. "…Chessnut, did you call it, Nelly?"

"Yes," she said, sounding embarrassed.

"Did you make the name up on the spot or had you pre-meditated it," was Peter's inquiry.

"Neither. I know this horse…"

"You _know_ it?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes. It belongs to my brother."

"Must have been stolen, I suppose," shrugged Peter. "That is – the horse, not the brother," he added.

"I used to ride it around the park when I was younger…during the summer…" began Nelly.

"You never told me you had a brother," I interrupted.

"You never asked."

"What does he do?"

"He's a – carpenter – in Emeraud."

"I see."

"A carpenter, is he?" said Peter.

"Yes," said Nelly demurely. "Look…there's some steps over there," she said, changing the subject.

"Steps? Where, I don't see them," I frowned.

"Stop the horse," suggested Peter.

"Good idea," I said, giving the reins a quick jerk.

Poor horse. This just wasn't its day for the smooth, uninterrupted galloping it was so fond of.

"The steps are over there," pointed Nelly. "You can see them through the gaps between the trees."

"They must scale the sloping side of the valley, where there's no steep cliff," mused Peter.

"I wonder where they lead to?" was Nelly's comment.

"Stop," I said. "There's no use wondering," I continued, dismantling, "the only way to find out is to go there."

"But Elf – we'll get lost!" quavered Nelly.

"Are we not already lost? Come _on_, where's your spirit of adventure," I exclaimed impatiently. "You can stay here if you like," I continued, "but I'm going." I unstrapped my bag and the dress the robbers had so very kindly provided for me, and began to walk briskly in the direction of the steps.

As I suspected, Nelly and Peter soon followed, leaving the horse munching on some particularly crisp spring leaves.

* * *

"'Black Cave this way,'" read Nelly. "I suppose 'this way' is _that_ way," she pointed down the steps, "as the sign doesn't point in any particular direction." 

"It is," nodded Peter. "The Black Cave is a famous landmark of the Forest of Ardendale. Well, a famous underground-mark, anyway. It's deep in the earth and has a spectacular array of stalactites, or so I hear."

"Then what are we waiting for, let's go there!" I exclaimed, making a movement towards the steps.

"_Wait_, Elf. I haven't finished yet. You know the saying…look before you leap. No one has ever returned from the cave."

"What do you mean – not returned?"

"I mean that those who go down the tunnel to the cave are never seen again. Not that many have ever gone there. Only courageous heroes-to-be ever enter the cave. And none of them come back."

"Maybe there's some sort of utopia down there, and they just don't _want_ to come back," I shrugged, laughing.

"Elf, be serious. In that cave is a labyrinth. At the centre of that labyrinth is a chamber full of teeth, teeth hanging from the ceiling and rising from the ground. In the middle of that chamber is a fire. And by that fire lives a witch."

"_Amazing_," I said, a mocking smile playing on my lips. "Come on, we all know witches don't exist. We've been through this before."

"But even if there is no witch, Elf, there could be some real danger in that cave," said Nelly anxiously.

"Such as?"

"I don't know – maybe there's some kind of wild beast…"

"A wild beast!" I hooted. "Now that's the best one I've heard yet! Honestly, Nelly. What would it live on, this beast? Air?"

"Perhaps on the brave young men who every once in a while fall down there," said Peter in a low, dramatic voice.

"Fairy tales!" I laughed, rather contemptuously. "You're talking fairy tales, Peter."

"And so the beast is angrier and angrier as time creeps on…waiting with an ever-increasing hunger for someone to fall through the trap…"

"The trap?"

"Yes, there's a trap that drops straight into one end of the cave."

Nelly looked at me as if to ascertain my opinion on dangerous traps.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I say, let's go. It'll at least be more scenic."

"Elf! Please…" said Nelly apprehensively.

"You can be very rash, you know," added Peter.

"And you can be very timid. Don't _peter_ out. It'll be fun. Let's go!" Seeing the others still paused, I added, "Or will I have to go by myself?"

"We'd never let you go alone," Nelly exclaimed loyally.

"No," said Peter, a little nervously, "of course we wouldn't."

"Well then," I said triumphantly.

Nelly looked at Peter, and Peter looked at Nelly. Nelly gave a little shrug, Peter gave a small nod, and I saw they had reached an agreement – they were coming too. Whistling cheerfully, I led the way.

As we clambered down the slippery stone steps, the tiny, lime-coloured ferns curiously poked their heads out at us. The few trees whispered to each other quietly, perhaps wondering what three adventurers like us were doing in their usually undisturbed world.

It felt as if a magic blanket had been cast over the mountain – everything was so beautifully wet and lush. As the wind gave the branches a brisk shake all the little pearls went flying off them.

"Isn't it beautiful," I said, taking a deep breath of the cool, crisp air.

"Beautiful," agreed Nelly, holding her dress up as she put her foot on the next step down.

"Quite so. Climbing down thousands of steps really _must_ be my favourite exercise. Especially when it involves the physical challenge of avoiding falling down them. In fact –"

Peter was interrupted by a deafening explosion. Suddenly something hard and cold hit my cheek, then my head and my hands…soon it was attacking my whole body. White shadows screened the forest, flickering on and off. The sharp, wet daggers poured down unceasingingly.

We skidded down the few remaining steps and scampered into the shelter of the forest. A furious wind tore at the branches, shredding ferns and twigs as it went. The wet leaves slipped and slithered under our feet as we ran.

"What do we do now?" shouted Nelly above the storm. A large branch clashed down nearby.

"I don't know," I exclaimed.

"We've got to do something," said Peter, "but – _aaaah!_"

"Peter, where are you?" cried Nelly anxiously.

_Where are you, you, you_, whispered the wind.

"Pe-ter? Peter where –"

"I'm down here, not hurt," came a voice from beneath us. "There is a tunnel – I fell in through the hole."

"What's down there?"

"I don't know, I can't see. It's pitch black in here."

"Can you get out?"

"I can try – but I'd need something to hoist me up with…"

"Here," said Nelly, grabbing a long branch, "take this."

"Thanks. Pull, pull, pull…that's it…pull…"

Nelly suddenly screamed, and just as suddenly fell into the earth. Or that's what it looked like.

"Nelly! Where are you?" I cried out.

"I'm down here, with Peter," came Nelly's voice.

"Where!"

"Down here!"

"There's a tunnel, just jump," instructed Peter's voice above the gale.

I couldn't see a tunnel anywhere (but then I couldn't see _anything_). I did as I was told, though, and jumped into mid-air. The length of my fall took me by surprise. All of a sudden, I hit a hard, smooth surface and slid down what could have been the inside of a black serpent.

I was enveloped by an even blacker blackness. "Nelly, Peter! Where are you?" I called. _Where are you, you, you,_ said a plaintive little voice, rebounding off the walls.

"We're right here," echoed Nelly's voice in reply, "just next to you."

"Peter too?"

"Peter too," he confirmed.

"Where are we," asked Nelly in a soft, velvety tone of voice.

"I don't know. We need a light," said Peter.

"Agreed," said Nelly. "But where do we get it?"

"I have no…" began Peter. He stopped suddenly. "Did you hear that," he whispered.

"What? I didn't hear anything," I said.

"Never mind. I must have been imagining things. Now how do we get out of here?"

"Just what I was going to ask," said Nelly.

"Maybe if we groped our way out…"

"But we don't know how big this place is. It could be huge," added Nelly in a tone of despair.

"Judging by the echo effect produced, yes, I'd say it is," said Peter dryly.

"Well, the only choice we have is to at least _try_ to get out of here," I said. "Let's start by finding a wall."

I extended my hand into the darkness, walking forward slowly. As it touched a rough, rocky surface I stopped. "Well, I've found one. Nelly, I want you to take my other hand – yes, like that. Peter, you take Nelly's other hand – have you got it?"

"Yes."

"Let's go, then."

I walked along the wall, blindly following it with my hand, my hand that became my eyes. Eventually, a corner jutted out. I stopped, went around it, and continued on, and on, and on.

"We'll never get out of here," moaned Nelly as we went around the third corner.

"Of course we will," I said, feeling anything but confident myself.

"Of _course _we will," said a vociferous Peter from the back. "Surely you couldn't think anything could happen to you with _me_ around?"

"Oh, yes, you're a _great_ comfort, Peter," I said, somewhat sardonically.

"Why thank you. I think so too."

_Too, too, too. _As the last echo rebounded off the walls a light appeared in front of us. It was a candle – a light in the darkness. It floated in mid-air, casting a dim, ghostly light on our surroundings.

A murmur of amazement arose. There were hundreds of glittering, golden stalactites hanging from the ceiling. A long, dark corridor of stone stretched out before us.

"Ladies," whispered Peter gravely, "welcome to the Black Cave."

We looked at each other meaningfully. As the silence glided down onto us like a midnight owl, time suddenly stopped.

The sight of the candle brought us back to earth. It was hovering up and down expectantly, as if it were waiting for us. I reached out for it cautiously. As my fingers clasped it tremblingly, a sense of relief flowed through me. The candle, at least, was material.

A sudden noise startled me. It was the hasty shuffle of feet, moving in the opposite direction. I cast a light on the spot, but nothing was there.

"What was _that_?" I whispered.

"I'm not sure," said Peter, shrugging dismissively. "Could have been a bat. There's plenty of them in this cave."

Though I wasn't quite satisfied with this explanation – I had never heard of a bat shuffling its feet – I decided it was the best one offered, and no longer worried my head over it.

We crept along the corridor, hearing nothing but our own breathing. The walls slid by us like weary snails. Eventually the corridor came to an end.

"What now," breathed Nelly.

"It seems to be a dead end," I replied, my shoulders sinking.

Peter's shadow slunk along the wall, soon followed by Peter himself. "Don't worry," he said comfortingly, "because it's not. Somewhere around here is a hidden exit. Only to find it…wait a minute! Here it is!"

He made a sudden, excited movement. The air swooshed by, and before we could do anything the candle was out. A loud, simultaneous groan greeted the darkness.

"_Now_ what," I said eventually. "We'll _never_ get out of here without that light."

"Don't despair!" said Peter, quite cheerfully, "for Peter Markovski is here!"

"Indeed," I said wryly, "we have noticed."

"I think," said Peter in a loud voice, "if we only knew the magic word, the entrance would open by itself."

"Magic, again, Peter?" I sniffed.

"Yes. I just can't remember that word…"

"_Wait_ a minute. This means you've been here before! "

"No, of course not. I was told the word by my nurse in Kravarus."

"Kravarus?" said Nelly inquisitively. "Where's that?"

"It's where I'm from…a small county in the north. Though I'm not actually from there myself…I was a foundling, you see."

"A foundling?" asked Nelly.

"Yes. It means I was found. And before that I was lost."

"Lost?"

"Lost – misplaced. Vanished. Nowhere to be found."

"We know what it _means_," I put in, annoyed.

"Continue," said Nelly encouragingly.

"Alright. I can tell you all I know about myself if you want me to…"

"Oh, yes, please!" was Nelly's enthusiastic reply.

"It may be long, though," he warned. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning's always a good place…" The fact that my eyebrows had leapt high up under my hair was hidden by the darkness.

"What an excellent idea, _Your Highness_!" replied Peter, with mock courtesy.

I jumped, but as the sound of laughter filled the air I relaxed. He had only been joking.

"Well, from the the beginning then," he said, in a tone of voice that could be likened to that of a storyteller settling down in a cosy armchair by the fire, preparing to weave a web of mystery and delight around his listeners.

The water stopped dripping from the stalactites, and the baby bats overhead suddenly forgotthey werecalling their mothers for some more milk. A misty silence fell on the cave.

* * *

"I was found by Count Boris Markovski in a basket of daffodils. Yes, daffodils, the golden, trumpet-like flowers that share Narcissus of Greek mythology as their common ancestor. You know, the bloke who was turned into a flower because he fell in love with his own reflection?…Anyhow, I am told that I let the Count know of my existence by uttering a shrill cry from beneath the mass of golden flowers, soon after he had purchased them at the local market. He hurriedly took them out and, amazed, discovered me. Naturally, he immediately took a liking to me and adopted me. 

"I grew up alongside the count's own two sons, treated exactly like them in everything. No, that's not true…I was treated much better! I swiftly became the Count's favourite – don't ask me why, or how…it just happened. I suppose it was partly due to the fact that as I grew up I began to display – or so they say – a natural flair for acting.

"The Count was not fonder of anything else than a good play. When the travelling actors came round twice a year I always joined in the show, playing the younger boys' parts…sometimes I even got the girls' parts." – Here Nelly giggled. "I loved acting. I loved escaping from the daily world of the Markovski Castle and slipping into other people's skins. I loved the escaping part more and more as my two foster brothers grew more and more jealous of me.

"Alexei and Igor were not the sort of boys to let any sort of favouritism go unnoticed. Every time the Count so much as smiled at me they found some way or another to pay me back afterwards. Their revenges became more frequent and more violent – one time I was in a coma for three days after they had finished with me. That was the time the Count _really_ noticed, and he gave them a severe punishment for it, too. But punishing those boys only made them worse. The day I recovered they hatched a plan to get rid of me.

"They met in one of the castle's dust-filled attics to discuss their plan. It was decided they'd tie me to one of the trees in a nearby forest the next time we went hunting. I have no idea what the logic behind this was - they must have thought a bear would come and eat me up, or that I would die of starvation, or something of the sort. Then they would say I had run away! I was only about ten…Igor was thirteen, and Alexei fifteen. Unfortunately for them, one of the servants overheard and threatened to tell the Count.

"Suddenly they were in great danger. The two rascals were scared of what their father might do if he found out. So the next day the servant disappeared."

"I have no idea what happened to her – she was only young, in fact, only about two years older than me. A threat from them would certainly have been enough to scare her out of wanting to tell the Count. And yet for some reason they got rid of her. But not before she had told me the whole story.

"Lydiev was a very gentle, modest young girl. She had the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. Something like yours…Elf. Her long, black hair was thick and soft. She had not been working for the Markovskis for long, but she and I had already became good friends. Lydiev told me she was sweeping the attic before Alexei and Igor came in. She hid in an old wardrobe as she heard them approaching – she was terrified of them. They always treated her as if she were no more than a farm animal, you see. From her hiding-place she heard the whole plan.

"And so she told me everything. She bid me flee, flee far from the castle. I refused. I wasn't going to leave _her_ in their hands! She reasoned with me, she remonstrated, she wept, but all in vain. I was firm. I would not go on the hunt, I told her. It was scheduled for the next Monday – I would pretend to have a cold, and stay in bed.

"It was the time of year that the travelling actors were in Kravarus – I spent the next morning romping around the castle theatre with them, enjoying myself. After that I went to the kitchens to get some crumb to eat. Never had I been so totally shocked before as I was when the head cook told me Lydiev was lost. Every servant in the castle was searching for her, but in vain.

"As the actors were leaving that day, I ran away with them. I have been told that the basket of flowers I was found in was imported from Emereldom, so when we were staging a play in the royal palace in Emeraud, I decided to stay behind to trace my roots. So now I'm a newspaper boy."

"And Lydiev?"

"I've never seen, or heard of her since."

"What a lovely fairy tale that would make," I said, not without a slight trace of sarcasm.

"Don't you think?" was Peter's smug reply.

"Yes…well it was all very nice and everything, but you still haven't told us how you became involved with those highwaymen we crossed paths with earlier on," I reminded him.

"I'll get to that presently."

"We're listening," said Nelly; I could almost sense the kind smile on her face.

"Well," said Peter, pausing, "I was doing some research for an article I was working on (for I am also assistant editor at the Interkingdom Herald – an apprentice) when I stumbled on a man in a mask for the first time. Surprised, I politely greeted him. He drew his sword and pointed it directly at me without making any answer. I took a step back, stunned, but turning around I saw there was another, similarly-masked and similarly-armed man behind me.

"'What do you want,' I spluttered. 'Gold,' they said. I protested that I didn't have any – not quite true, I did have about two gold coins in my pocket, but I wasn't going to tell _them_ that. They had the look of blackguards and ruffians – the type that will say and do anything. And yet I would have never guessed their reply. 'You have gold enough,' they said. 'Give us some.'

"Again, I declared my poverty – I explained to them painstakingly all the details of my daily life, the hard work I had to undergo…and don't laugh, Elf, the life of a newspaper apprentice can be tough…but they called me a liar, they said I was rich enough to build palaces of gold. 'Give us some gold,' they repeated, 'and we won't hurt you.'

"Since I was driven to it, I produced my two gold coins. 'Here,' I said, 'it's all I have.'

"They laughed derisively – I have never heard anything more horrid than that laughter of theirs. They said it was not enough, they wanted more. They mockingly asked me if I had ever heard of this very cave, the Black Cave.'

"'No,' I lied, for the Count had told me about it…he said that in the inner recesses of the cave, there was a treasure." Peter paused, as if waiting to be interrupted. Nelly appeared to be too absorbed by the story; as for myself, I wasn't interested in riches. I knew their true worth only too well.

"I immediately guessed that these two had also heard of the treasure," he continued. "I have no idea where, for it was a very secret secret that no one else but the Count knew…Anyhow, I put myself on guard, and waited for more cajolery.

"'Very well then, if you don't know, you don't know,' they said in a tone of bitter contempt. 'Listen carefully,' continued the foremost man – Hoodley, it was. 'We'll grant you a favour.'

"This 'favour', as they called it, was that they'd grant me my life if I swore secrecy and joined their ranks. I had no choice…I mean, I didn't particularly like the idea of dying at the tip of a rapier…so I accepted. That's basically it."

"Didn't they say you had betrayed them?"

"Yes. I couldn't bear robbing people and leading the life of a blackguard. So, one night, I escaped from their lair and found my way back to Emeraud, to my old apprenticeship with the Herald. They were glad to see me again – I explained away my absence by saying that my grandma had been sick…Everything was pink and rosy again. Sadly, about a month after my return, when I was coming back from an interview for the newspaper I had been doing in the north, they cornered me and gave me such a thrashing…" – Here he shuddered. "That was the day you found me, and saved me. Well. Now you know everything."

I wasn't sure I believed all he said, especially as regarded the robbers and his innocence, but I let the matter fall, like a downy black feather onto the snow.

"And as to the magic word," continued Peter in the same, gentle tone, "It's _Sesame Open_."

As soon as he said it there was a earsplitting rumble. A crescent of light waned in front of us as the boulder blocking our entrance rolled away.

Peter grinned sheepishly in the soft, white light that had fallen. "Ladies first..."


	11. The Witch

**Author's Note: **_Sorry it's not very good, very very very busy nowadays (live in Australia, no holidays here, chocablock-full of exams), will edit it again later. I tried to make it slightly less confusing, not sure if it worked, but it's all I have time for at the moment._

**Chapter Eleven: The Witch**

I was vaguely conscious of the crystal-textured lights that dotted the mountains of limestone formations. Those lights were candles, bright orange in the flame and giving off the exotic aroma of magnolia petals as they burnt.

From the corner of my eye I could see a mammoth church organ of a bright, polished white – another limestone formation, half fact, half fantasy.

The air was warm and fragrant, with a certain density to it. A languid, profoundly sopoforic atmosphere filled the chamber. It was only heightened by the smoke coming from the jolly fire we had rekindled earlier that night.

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. The large cluster of stalactites that hung from it gave the impression of a large, antique chandelier. It was speckled by myriads of tiny, white lights – glow worms. Their pale illumination gave the chamber an unearthly feeling.

The heavy silence was only punctuated by the sound of Peter snoring, hippopotamus-style, as he lay dangerously close to the licking flames. My second companion lay on a rug further away.

I watched as the blue-clothed, white-laced kitten slowly uncurled. A blinking Nelly turned towards me.

"Elf…" she began, stopping to shade her mouth as she gave a not altogether petite yawn.

I didn't stir from the posture I had held for almost half an hour – that is, the posture of a thinker. My eyes, however, were fixed on Nelly as she gradually crept towards me.

"Can't you sleep," she asked in an intimate whisper as she gathered up her dress to sit down beside me.

I shook my head slightly, staring determinedly at the dancing flames.

There was a pause.

"Is everything all right?" asked Nelly softly.

I continued staring at the fire, something warm and wet fogging up my vision. Redmond kidnapped, Jimmy running for his life, my mother dead, myself lost, bandits haunting the countryside…No, things weren't "all right." The world was a black, moth-eaten tunnel, devoid of the slightest hope.

"You're worried about Peter, aren't you," she said understandingly.

"Peter?" I suddenly took my eyes off the fire, surprised. "Why would I be worried about him?"

"Because he's an orphan…because those robbers are after him…because he's lonely," she added meaningfully.

Loneliness…how well I had known that feeling over the years at Interkingdom College, where there was not a soul to whom I could relate.

"He keeps in good spirits and everything," continued Nelly, "but there's always a hint of sadness, of…I don't know, it's something to do with him having to be responsible for himself so early. He's too old for his years."

"I've noticed something similar," I said, after a short pause. "However much he jokes, there's always…_something_," I frowned, quite at loss for a word. "There is something in his manner that is almost theatrical…as if all he did and said was an outward charade and inside there was something different." I paused again. _Should I tell her?_ I glanced in Peter's direction – he was snoring more loudly still. Satisfied that he wasn't listening, I began. "Nelly, there's something shifty about Peter," I said in a low voice. "I like him, I really do, but as I said…the way he talks, and acts…he's just…just...just like…"

"An actor?" suggested Nelly, smiling slightly.

"Yes," I said, clearing my throat a little uneasily. "Really, Nelly," I said, seeing her laugh, "I'm serious. I think he's in with them…with those robbers."

"But he said-"

"I'm not interested in what he _said_. Frankly, I don't believe him. His whole story sounds like something he fabricated for our benefit…so that we trust him, so he can take us in."

"I don't know," said Nelly hesitantly. "Remember how that Hoodley said he – Peter, I mean – had betrayed them? Doesn't that support Peter's story?"

I bit my lips. I had forgotten about that. "Maybe he did, but now they're…forgive me…'as thick as thieves' again. Consider, Nelly, what we heard at the signpost. The man behind the bushes wanted Peter to make sure the musketeers didn't make any trouble. Isn't that proof?"

"I don't know," said Nelly again. "How can you be sure it had something to do with the robbers?"

"What else could it have been," I frowned. "Whoever it was talking to Peter must have been the master that servant was looking for. You know which servant...I forget his name…"

"Mr Bloom?" suggested Nelly.

"Mr Bloom, that's right," I said absent-mindedly, still trying to mentally piece the puzzle together. I frowned as the unseen man's voice rang through my head afresh. Now I thought about it, it was oddly familiar.

"Well, I think you shouldn't jump to conclusions about Peter," said Nelly, "until you have some solid evidence –"

"I've got it!" Iexclaimed excitedly. "The man in the bushes was the man who stole my bag earlier before…the man who stole your brother's horse…the man who had the first _portrait miniature_!"

"But Elf–"

I waved her protests away as if they had been mere flies. I continued, too impressed by my sudden flash of brilliance to take any notice of the helpnessness on my friend's face. "They're in this together, Nelly. I'm certain of it."

"But Elf, remember how you saved him from the robbers? How they wanted to attack him, but you stood true?"

I paused, unable to think of any reply to this.

"The very one who was trying to get at him was the one who stole your things!" added Nelly. "Besides," she continued, more to herself than anything else, "his voice was different. His voice was…" She drifted off, a faint, inexplicable smile on her lips.

"Wait a minute. They must have organised it that way. Peter pretended to be a poor peasant whom they were robbing…so we would take pity on him and pay them instead!"

"Elf, _really_," said Nelly, looking half exasperated, half amused.

"Nelly, admit it, Peter's acting very fishily. He's got a secret."

"Yes, but Elf…it doesn't _do_ to jump to conclusions about people until you have a firm reason to do so! For all you know, his secret could be something totally different…"

"Such as…?"

"I'm not sure," she said slowly, "but in any case, I would not hold any grudge towards him without having a strong grounds for it. I like him," she added, turning her silky brown head in his direction.

"I already said I _liked_ him," I said irritably. "But that doesn't stop me from suspecting him."

Nelly looked at me for a moment, looking as if she didn't know whether to smile or frown. She went for the smile. "Suspect him as you may, you must acknowledge he has been very good company."

"True," I said in an off-hand voice.

"And that he has never shown any signs of malice?"

"I suppose not."

"You know, Elf," mused Nelly, "you probably won't believe me but there are times when you and Peter look very much alike."

"Us?" I exclaimed loudly. Peter stopped snoring abruptly. "I mean…_us_?" I dropped my voice to a whisper, my eyes still on Peter. He merely rolled over and started snoring again.

"Yes, you two," she said, her teasing smile growing to a grin as she saw my look of bewilderment. "I don't know, I think it's something to do with the way you both let your mouth hang open when you look puzzled…" she continued innocently, "…like now," she added. I realised my mouth was indeed open and hurriedly shut it.

"Anyway," said Nelly softly, "I think it's time to get some sleep. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose it is."

"It really is a stroke of luck that we fell into this cave at all. Otherwise we would be out there, in the rain..."

"Yes," I agreed, "though it was pretty well disguised luck! Don't forget we still have to find our way out of here."

"True. But I'm sure we'll manage, somehow."

"Hopefully. Then we'll continue on our way to Thorny...do you think it's far, now?"

"We are a little...lost," Nelly reminded me. "I can't really tell. I think we might be going in the wrong direction."

"This forest can't be _infinite_!" I exclaimed, making a gesture with my hands that was meant to indicate infinity but ended up looking more like a simple "I don't know".

"I suppose not. Anyhow...good night!"

"Good night," I replied.

Nelly picked up the folds of her dress again and went back over to her rug.

I stared at the fire for a few more moments before lying down myself. My thoughts flew through my head like scattered leaves in a strong, autumn wind. Even when I did lie down, I still couldn't sleep. I rolled over, and back again, on one side, on the other…I lay flat on my back, then on my belly…nothing worked. It seemed I was destined not to fall asleep that night. But eventually, I did.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of ringing voices, which seemed to be speaking a language I couldn't understand behind the wall. Bleary-eyed, I glanced around me – the fire was still burning, though not altogether so brightly as before. The smoke whirled up into the air in clouds that assumed shapes, and shapes that became creatures. Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls flew up to the ceiling in one vapoury essence. Each spectre's eyes turned on me in turn as it grinned devilishly. 

It was only when I realised that Nelly and Peter had disappeared that I really woke up. As I tuned into my surroundings, I also began to understand what the voices were saying.

"…she is waitin' for him," said the first, male voice, which had a similar accent to Bloom but was somewhat more high-pitched.

"In the Interkingdom Hotel, I suppose?"

"No, at the Yellow Ram's Inn, Thorny."

"I see. I'll tell him that," replied a second, throaty voice. "I suppose she will pay him…?"

"Amply."

"I was under the the impression that one of them had already met her?"

"Yes, ma'am, one Jimmy Meralds –" At the sound of the name, a buzzing sound filled my head – it was as if a thousand bees were flying around my ears. My heart was in my throat, and while the bees cleared up my blood turned to ice…

"…but you see, her business with him was entirely different. He had nothing to do with the kidnapping –"

My stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"Quiet, man, there are people listening!" hissed the second voice.

"Oh. Right. Well," continued the first voice, rather more softly, "if you see Magpie, you'll tell him, won't you, ma'am?"

"Yes. And be assured that where there's money involved, he'll be involved too. Now ye may go. I trust yer journey will not be made too unpleasant by the rain…"

"Not at all, ma'am, it stopped raining an hour ago. And Thorny is not far…"

"I believe not. Pleasant journey, then."

"Thank you, ma'am. There's just one thing…"

"Money?"

"That too, but…"

"But?"

"Where is the way out?"

The sound of cackling filled the antechamber.

"Now that's what I call frankness! I knew yeh were no whippersnapper, to come to the Black Cave!"

"I was the only one brave enough to go, ma'am," said the first voice – I wasn't sure which was more prominent in it, the proudness, or the squeakiness.

"Ah! Then we shall have to give yeh double payment! Come, come, I'll show yeh the way…"

Footsteps could be heard, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling away. A kind of dotted-rhythm half-limp followed them, and then there was silence.

I didn't breathe. My hands trembled slightly. Jimmy had been the man behind the bushes. Jimmy had been the one who stole my bag, Jimmy had taken the portrait of my unkown saviour from me. Or had he? A thousand hammers were knocking at my brain. Surely not, surely Jimmy's voice was different…surely…but the more I thought about it the more I became convinced that Jimmy had been the one who had taken my portrait away from me, Jimmy who had indeed stolen my butterfly, Jimmy who was one of those horrible robbers…

I thought I was going to faint when, again, I heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, this time returning down the corridor. I hastily got up and hid behind some columns of sparkling limestone; they formed spectacular arches and supernatural pieces of architecture that no human could duplicate.

I heard the hobbling footsteps enter the chamber, a croaky voice reciting a chant at the same time.

"Today I bake, tomorrow I brew,

The next the wind'll quench the fire…

Ha! When she will come and look,

And find –

"No. It's really no good. The rhyming and the metre just ain't good enough," sighed the voice. "From the beginning, then, what do yeh say? Alright.

"Today I bake, tomorrow I cook,

The next the wind'll quench the fire…

"Now that's _much_ better. Then 'cook' rhymes with 'look.' What do yeh say, Wolfgang? Yes, I quite agree with ye."

I found a small hole in the limestone formations and peeked through it.

An old crone was hunched over the glowing, mandarin flames like a small boulder in a forest. Hoary wisps of hair floated from her head, together creating the effect of shaggy frost on a winter's eve. A black, pointed hat shaded her cavernous face, and a long, ebony cloak shrouded the rest of her body. Nestled by her feet was a little black dog. To add to it all, her strange mutterings were magnified by the marvellous acoustics of the grotto.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron, bubble…"

A groan echoed through the cave. "Was it _burn_, or _bake_? I can never remember…" Here she reached for a large, tattered book and began flipping through the pages. "Shakespeare, old chap, I'm sorry ye had to be exposed to the rain like that," she said apologetically, apparently to the book. "But if he had listened to my advice none of this would have _ever_ happened. And now we're in _this_ mess." There was a pause; she appeared to be musing in silence. "If only the poor old girl didn't have to worry so much. Of course, it's partly my fault…I wonder where she is now. Don't you, Wolfgang? Where the poor –" she suddenly glanced up and stopped stock still as her eyes settled on me.

I ducked down behind a cluster of stalagmites.The sound of hurried shuffling came nearer and nearer to my hiding place.

"I would have _sworn_," whispered a voice. I raised my eyes suddenly, and my heart ricocheted like a wild animal in a cage.

"Is anybody there?" croaked the old woman loudly. "Come on, show yerself! Or I'll turn ye in to a cockroach before ye can say Jack Robinson!"

I rose slowly from my hiding place. Through the window I could see her black eyes burning by the firelight. We stood face to face for a few moments.

"Don't stare at me like that," she snapped, breaking the silence. "Have ye never seen a witch before?"

I shook my head slightly.

"Hmph! Anyhow, 'tis an insult to etiquette to listen behind doors. Well, come out, come out," she continued, somewhat irritably, "don't stand there, trembling like a cornered chicken!"

"I wasn't listening behind a door," I said, cautiously coming out from behind the column of limestone, "I was listening from behind a window."

"Tush, tush, girl, 'tis the same thing! Come – let me look at ye." She put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. "Yer doan' look much like a princess!" I took a step back.

"But never mind…" she continued, not noticing my obvious bewilderment. "Ye doan' have to! Come, sit by the fire, there's a good girl. Sit down, sit down," she repeated, gesturing me a rug close to the fire. She returned to her former position, and I saw that she was stirring something that was hoisted in a pot above the fire – a pot that decidedly had not been there earlier on. "Now, tell me…who are ye, and what do yeh want?"

"My name is…Emma," I said cautiously.

"Emma! How ingenious!"

"And I want to know what really happened to Prince Redmond."

"Prince _Redmond_!" she cackled. "What do ye wan' with him? He's nothing to _ye_! Yer should be a-worried about Prince James, that's what!"

"Prince James? Has he been kidnapped too?"

"Kiddnapped fiddlesticks! He is now in very great danger of his life! It's ebbing away from him!"

I paused. I thought for a moment that I heard a voice of midnight velvet, slowly dying away, fading into nothingness. Prince James…dying?

"Prince _Redmond_!" she repeated, clucking most disapprovingly. "Prince Redmond is safe enough. Kidnapped, but…all in all…quite safe." I could hardly supress a sigh of relief. "Prince _James_, on the other hand…" she continued mercilessly.

"What's happened to him?" I asked, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

"What's _happened_ to him?" she repeated incredulously. "Why, the whole _kingdom_ knows whats happened to him! Yeh doan' mean to say you doan' know what's _happened _to him?" she exclaimed, "Yeh doan' _know_!"

"No," I said, at an attempt at calmness, "I do not."

"Ha!" She stirred the liquid with extra vigour.

"Are you going to tell me, then?" I asked, somewhat annoyed.

She took the ladle out and brandished it at me. "If you doan' know, you doan' know," she said gravely, and went back to her stirring as if nothing had happened.

I raised my eyes to the stalactite-covered ceiling.

She continued stirring in silence, holding her head low. Though her face was in shadow and her eyes were cast down, somehow I felt her looking at me. Eventually I made another attempt at conversation. "What's that you're cooking, Grandma?"

"Eel soup," came the prompt reply. "Want some?"

"No, thank you," I said quickly, "…I'm not hungry." Just then my stomach gave a loud growl of protest. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. We sat, again, in silence.

I stared at the dancing flames. If only I could find Redmond, and rescue him somehow…if only there was some way I could reform Jimmy…if only, oh if only things had been different.

"Nice dog," I commented.

"He's not mine. I am only looking after him. Yeh miss yer master, don't yeh, Wolfgang?" she asked the dog, giving him something that was more like a scrub than a pat.

Wolfgang lifted his head slightly in recognition, just enough for me to see two liquid brown eyes, and again sank down to doze.

"There are some things you can't understand, Esmerelda," said the witch quietly. Though I opened my mouth to say something, she intercepted me. "I know what you're going to say: you're not Esmerelda, you have no idea about her. But," she drew out the ladle again, pointing it at me, "_you are_."

In the distance I could detect the silent flapping of bats' wings against the colourless hollow. I dropped my eyes.

"To tell the truth," she continued, unabashed, "there are many things you can't understand. There have been strange goings-on in the past few weeks, some so strange that if I told you about them, you probably wouldn't believe me." Her tone was grave and somewhat changed; suddenly I noticed that she had switched from "yeh" to "you". I stared at her blankly.

"You still have much before you," she said slowly, not raising her eyes. "Look on it as a test…as a challenge, if you like. What was it you wanted to know about Prince Redmond?"

"I –"

"Oh yes, that's right. His kidnapping. Well," she said, her forehead creasing slightly, "put it this way. Redmond is being punished – " I raised my eyes in alarm. "Redmond is being punished," she said unwaveringly as she fixed her eyes on me, "for neglect and thoughtlessness. He has been thoroughly, thoroughly neglectful in many ways. He has not handled the situation properly many times. And now he is forced into a worse situation than he ever has been in the past (due to his eccentric tomfoolery)…and he must handle it. Do not pity him, Esmerelda," she said, the corners of her lips twitching slightly, "he's not worth it."

"What do you know about Redmond?" I fired up. "You know nothing, nothing! Stop making ignorant assumptions – "

"Ah, but they are not assumptions," she said, waving a threatening finger at me. "What I have told you is the simple…or, should I say, the complex…truth."

"I asked about Redmond's kidnapping. All you have told me is that Redmond is as good as a good-for-nothing –"

"He _is_ a good-for-nothing."

"He's not a good-for-nothing any more than I am a peasant!"

"Well-phrased," was her calm observation.

"Just because Redmond is a noble and worthy young man, unlike you, who are a fraud and a liar…"

"Hot words, dear, hot words. I should not want to use them in front of your stepmama, if I were you. They might get you into trouble."

"_You_ –"

"Don't say it, please. There really are plenty of beautiful words in the English language; there is no need to use the foul ones. Indeed, we all get angry sometimes, but it is much better to try and understand that things do not always go our way than to storm about, stinging people with swearwords. It does nothing to rectify the situation."

"I'm not a little girl!" I exploded.

"I didn't say you were," was the calm, almost amused reply. "I have rarely seen a little girl using less estimable words."

"You…you witch!"

"Yes," she replied, unable to conceal a half-laugh, "I am."

"You venemous –"

"If only Meralds heard you," she mused. "He would be most delighted."

A sharp pang in my head. "Meralds?"

"Yes, Meralds. You know Meralds, I believe. Admirable singer."

There was a pause.

"Redmond would be proud of you," she said softly.

"You know…?" I drifted off.

"Yes," she nodded. "Now, listen carefully. There is something of a conspiracy among the upper circles. Redmond has been kidnapped, not so much for money, but because he is an obstacle to the power of a certain person…but I cannot go into that now, it is late. To put it briefly, Redmond needs to know the name of the organisation of bandits who kidnapped him. No," she said, eyeing me, "…they were merely hired to do it. Though I am sure they will receive a large reward also. _If_ Redmond can discover the name of his kidnappers…for there are several…they swear they will set him free."

"The name of his kidnappers? But why?"

"'Why' is insubstantial. It is the 'how' that is most important."

"How, then?"

"Exactly. Redmond has no means whatsoever of discovering their name, cooped up as he is…when he sees them, I'm sure they must be extremely careful not to let slip. But if someone could find it out _for_ him and somehow contrive to tell him…"

"Wait. This is some sort of trap. You're on _their_ side," I scowled.

"There are no 'sides', Esmerelda," she said, her silver eyebrows raised. "Are you familiar with Hamlet?" she continued. "There is a line in that play…'There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.'"

I held back a sob. That was Jimmy's favourite quote.

"Be strong," she murmured, "but remember that it is important to balance strength with compassion. Remember…"

"Where is he," I exclaimed, salty water trickling down my face.

She looked surprised. "_Where_ is he?"

"Yes! Where is he! Stop torturing me!" With that, I burst out crying. The fumes from the fire, the philosophical musings of the witch, and the sombre heartache I carried within me had finally culminated in a rain of sorrow. I hid my face on the rug, sobbing convulsively.

"Esmerelda," said a distant voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you…_Esmerelda_…Esmerelda!" Someone was shaking me gently.

"I might never see him again," I wimpered into the rug.

"Of course you will! Though I'm afraid I cannot tell you where Prince Redmond -"

"Not Redmond, Jimmy!" I forgot who I was talking to…where I was, and why I was there…I was sucked into the eternal gloom of the night.

"You will see him again," said the voice. "Perhaps sooner than you expect. Sleep, now. Tomorrowwill bea long day."

The white light of the glow worms began to fade, the crystallised candles let out a final puff of magnolia-scented smoke, and the smouldering fire disappeared into the darkness.


	12. The Yellow Ram

**Author's Note: **_I really hope this is less confusing than the last chapter. I do my best - I've had a lot of exams on...trust exams to make one think most **un**clearly. I apologise for the long time I haven't updated - making your head unclear is not the only thing exams do, they also take up most of your time. Now they're over - but I'm going to be away a lot, and I still have a lot on, so updates may be...very...s...l...ll...l...oo...oooo...www. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it, and will remove myself heretofore, as this "note" is getting far too long. Farewell, and thank you again to all my reviewers._

**Chapter Twelve: The Yellow Ram**

I woke up to the sound of metal crashing to the ground. My eyelids fluttered open. For a moment I stared blankly at the flaky white remains of yesterday's fire; then I looked up to see Nelly turned towards the wall.

"Nelly, what on _earth_ are you doing?" I asked as I rubbed my eyes.

She turned around, and I saw she was holding a long, awkward piece of metal with both hands. "Oh Elf!" she said in a tone indicating pleasant surprise. "You're up!"

"Yes," I said wearily, "so I am."

My friend looked a little embarrassed. "I, er…" she began, still holding the metal stick high in the air. I noticed it was longer than she was. "Well, that is to say…" She turned a sombre shade of radish red and didn't finished the sentence.

"Where's the witch?" I asked, frowning at the second, deserted rug by the fire.

"Which witch," asked Nelly, who allowed the end of the metal to touch the ground with a look of despair.

"The witch I was just talking to," I replied incredulously. "You don't mean you didn't see her leave?"

"I didn't see any witch," she replied, in her turn frowning. "Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?"

"But – it was so…real," I sighed. "I woke up to the sound of voices in the corridor; the witch was talking to some servant person who was looking for one of the robbers, Lark I think the name was…no, Magpie. And he wasn't there…then the witch came in and had we had a long talk…it didn't make much sense, but…" I drifted off.

Nelly looked skeptical. "A witch? But Elf," she continued, in a very serious tone, "I thought you didn't believe in magic."

"I don't, but this witch _wasn't_ a witch," I explained helplessly.

"What was she then…a doormat?"

"No," I laughed. "She was a fraud, I think," I added by way of explanation. "There were no signs of her doing magic…not really…" I sighed again. "I guess it must have been a dream. It _was_ pretty strange. You and Peter had disappeared somewhere and I was left all alone, with her…speaking of Peter," I continued, glancing around at the empty chamber, "where _is_ he?"

The exasperated look I had noticed before returned to Nelly's face. "He left a note. Look…" Carefully laying the pole on the ground, Nelly walked over to me, producing a small scroll of paper.

I bit my lips as I peered over her shoulder at thesmall, evenwriting. "_To my dear ladies_," I read, "_I am afraid I must leave you now, as I have a pressing matter of business to attend to in town. Please understand that I depart only in absolute necessity, and with a very heavy heart. Perhaps we shall meet again some day. Your ever-faithful servant, Peter Markovski._" By the time I finished I could hardly see, I was frowning so much. "He's deserted us!" I exclaimed, snatching the paper from Nelly's hand. "'A pressing matter of business' indeed!" I gave the note a sound punch with my right fist.

"He could have at least told us how to get out," murmured Nelly. "The exit is blocked."

"_What?_" I exclaimed.

"The exit is blocked by a boulder again, look," she pointed at the big, aggressive-looking boulder which was, indeed, blocking the exit.

"But it wasn't there before!" I cried, horrified.

"It was before Peter said the magic word," replied Nelly, smiling slightly.

"Oh, well maybe if we say it again…" I walked over to the boulder hopefully. "_Sesame open_!" I roared.

A few drops of water from above fell on my head in rapid succession, but otherwise, nothing happened.

"It's no use," sighed Nelly. "I've been trying to move it away with this lever, you see, but it requires a man's strength. Which I don't have," she added, making something that was in between a half-smile and a wince.

"Do you think that's how Peter got out?"

"I doubt it. Peter would be too young in the first place, and he's small for his age."

"Though his mind is old," I added. "How _do_ you think he got out, then?"

"You know, Elf, I have absolutely _no_ idea. I looked around for some sort of hidden exit, but if there is one it's so cleverly concealed that you would only find it if you knew where it was."

"Brilliant," I muttered. "Well at least you can't make him out to be a saint after _this_, Nelly. Admit it, he's a little villain!"

"I am sorry for him," she said sadly. "Such a nice boy…"

"Nice? He leaves us in a cave with no possible way of exit, and you call him _nice_! We'll _die_ down here! We have only enough water left for one day, and hardly any more bread…and where do you suppose we'll get wood for the fire? It's freezing," I added, shivering.

"We _won't_ die," said Nelly fiercely. "We'll find a way out, _somehow_…we've got to!" She took the lever again and attacked the boulder with new energy.

It didn't budge.

"Here, let _me_ try," I said, taking the pole off her. I slid the end of the lever under the rock, and pushed with all my might, but again it remained unmoved.

"There's no point," said Nelly, shaking her head.

My heart sank. "Wait a minute," I perked up, "what if we do it together?"

"Alright! I hadn't thought of that," replied my companion, a little more brightly. "So how do we do it?"

"Maybe if we both take the end of it…yes, like that…and push…push…_pusssh_…"

The boulder quaked only just detectably and then was still.

I groaned in exasperation, freeing my hands of the pole so as to wring them thoroughly. For a moment I reminded myself of my father.

"What now," murmured Nelly.

I shrugged. "I guess there's no point now. We've tried everything. All we have to do now is write our tombstones…"

Nelly's jaw suddenly fell by a clean two inches. "Look!" she gasped, pointing in the opposite direction.

I turned to see what she was goggling at.

Encrusted by stalactites and carved into the side of the cave was a small, oak door.

"I would have _sworn_ it wasn't there before!" exclaimed Nelly. "I went all around the chamber, looking for a hidden door, and…"

"It doesn't matter," I said quickly, grabbing my bag. "Let's get out of here!"

We were in a small, narrow, steep passageway. The air was black and fuzzy, and splintered daggers of limestone jutted out from odd angles of the ceiling.

Far above there was a tiny patch of bright white. As we walked upwards, a strange but not unfamiliar light blinded us.

It was the sunlight.

At the top of the tunnel, Nelly and I stopped abruptly. Exchanging smiles almost as radiant as the sun itself, we ran up through the opening.

We found ourselves, again, in the forest; but this time, the trees were only few and not far away there was a clearing.

At the edge of that clearing was a small, wooden picket-fence – a sign of civilisation.

"Look at that!" I exclaimed, pointing. "It could be a village!"

"Aone-house village," said Nelly doubtfully.

"What does it matter if it's one house or a hundred houses…as long as they have food!"

"And beds," added Nelly, smiling wistfully.

"And a hot bath! What are we waiting for!"

I set out in a run towards the fence with Nelly not far behind me. The trees whizzed by me, and the brown fence came slowly closer…

I suddenly collided with something I at first mistook for an old tree stump. A xylophone-like sound filled my ears as pieces of wood fell to the ground.

As I bent down to rub my foot the tree stump rose up and showed itself to be a withered old woman.

For one panicked moment I thought I saw the witch of the night before, but as that moment passed I realised she was only an ordinary mortal.

Her lined face was twisted into an expression of supreme annoyance.

"S-sorry," I stuttered, "I didn't see you."

The expression turned to contempt. I stared at her. There was never such a bird-like woman, I thought. She had the beak of a hawk, and her immense, shaggy eyebrows didn't succeed in hiding a pair of small, piercing eagle's eyes.

The skin stretched over the bony frame of her face was wrinkled and speckly. Her thin lips were warped into a grimace. I was just going to stammer out something else when Nelly clambered into the scene.

"Is anybody hurt?" she asked breathlessly. "I saw her run into you from the distance," she added to the woman. "Is there anything we can do to help you?…Look, Elf, you knocked the fire-wood from her hands! Where did you want to take these?" she turned to the peasant.

The old bird pointed a clawed finger at the fence.

"We'll help you, then!" smiled Nelly. "Elf, help me take these…it really must be too heavy for this lady here."

I rolled my eyes as she planted some particularly large sticks into my outstretched arms.

"Is this yours," she asked the woman, holding up a long, black shawl.

The woman nodded, hunching her grey-plaid back a little expectantly.

Nelly smilingly spread the shawl over the peasant's shoulders. "Is that all?" she asked brightly.

The old woman nodded her iron-coloured head.

"Let's go, then," said Nelly, shouldering my bag, which I must have dropped during the collision.

The woman clamped her claws on my right shoulder, leaning all her weight on me. I stumbled forward, tugging her along. Nelly marched behind us.

When we finally reached the gate, Nelly ran to open it. It creaked open, and we hobbled in, Nelly closely following.

We had arrived in a vegetable garden. On both sides of the narrow channel of grass that served as a path were extensive beds of tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes, as well as a large array of kitchen herbs.

There was a small, wooden shed on the other side of the garden. Its thatched roof had so many holes in it that it looked vaguely like a brown, dirty piece of cheese. Propped up against its closest wall was a large pile of straw, sparkling like incandescent gold in the light of the sun.

I felt as though I would collapse any moment. The frail old thing next to me was surprisingly heavy, and the large pile of wood in my arms did nothing to make matters easier. The building not a long way off looked like a mirage.

As we walked forwards the shed loomed closer on the left side. The straw looked so soft, so tempting…

I ripped away from the grassy lane, dragging the old crow along with me. She let out an outraged sort of half-grunt as she realised which direction I was heading her, but before she could do anything about it –

Bang. We shot through the straw, sending thewood flying through the air. Tumble, rumble, bumble. The yellow mountain collapsed around us, and we found ourselves falling to the ground.

The bird _screeched_.

I found myself laughing – laughing for the first time in what seemed ages. Effervescent, appreciative sounds gurgled up from my throat like those made by a brook that is the happy child of the forest.

The bird, meanwhile, was dusting herself of straw very thoroughly indeed. I was just thinking of Rumpelstiltskin when Nelly came to the rescue.

"Are you hurt?" she asked the crow anxiously. For a split second, annoyance replaced my mirth."Oh Elf, you really should be more careful in steering…" she gasped, staring, wide-eyed,at the old wretch.

That did it. The annoyance passed, and I became a river-brook again.

Nelly frowned. "Elf!" she remonstrated. "This really isn't funny! You could have been hurt!"

"Honestly Nelly," I returned, still laughing, "it's not like a little haystack ever did anyone harm. You can't blame me...the – the sun," I threw in, chortling, "got in my eyes."

Nelly cast me a reproachful, almost irritated look. My smile fell – it was the first time I had seen Nelly angry. She went back to helping the hag, pretending I wasn't there.

"_I'll_ help you," she was saying kindly – too kindly. "Here – lean on me. I'll take you to the house."

The pair of them crept slowly towards the large building. From a distance I could hear music and merriment – shrieks of laughter made only too audible by a few extra swigs of wine. I lagged behind, not even feeling like pointing out the large sign at the door. That sign had a ram's head on it. A ram's head coloured in the most brilliant yellow possible. Underneath it, in big, ornate letters, was written, "The Yellow Ram."

* * *

"What will it be – a big steak with a jug of beer? Or perhaps our specialty, crumbed mutton, _alla anglaise_?"

My stomach made an uncomfortable noise. "Just bread, please," I said, ignoring it, "bread and water."

"_Just_ bread? Ho, ho, we _are_ modest now! Are you a nun, lassie? Yeh won't find no bread here! The Yellow Ram is a house of _rep-oo-tashun_," articulated the voice garrulously, almost greedily, "we doan' provide monks' meals here!"

I stared at him helplessly as he made a contemptuous gesture as if to say exactly what he thought of "monks' meals". The innkeeper was a large, red-faced man with a sparse collection of snowy hairs on his head, wearing a massive apron that made him look like a cross between a houswife and a comedian.

"No, lass, yeh' won't find them! You won't find 'em, no! No indeedy!" He was saying, his large head waggling from side to side.

"But Mr Whitehead –"

"No! I'll none o' that! No Mr Whithead-ing me! Whitehead, they call me, simple Whitehead. We don't use titles 'round these parts. It ain't proper."

I looked despairingly around the room, trying to find Nelly – but she had disappeared somewhere with that old woman. To help her pick every straw from her shawl, I expected.

"Alright," I said, sighing, "I'll take the mutton."

This was evidently what Whitehead had hoped for.

"Excellent choice…ex-cel-lent choice, miss! Now that will be five gold ducats, please!" He extended a large, grubby pink hand.

"Five – ducats?" I asked jerkily.

"Yea. Five gold ducats," he said, as if proud he could count to such a sum.

"Er – I'll give you the money right away," I said, fishing in my bag nervously. "Just – one – minute."

He leered at me expectantly.

"Um, here's…one – two silver coins, that's one ducat…there's another, and another, and…" But I only had three ducats. I bit my lip as I watched his expression turn to disgust.

"Yeh doan' have enough money?" he drawled, fixing his burning black eyes on me.

"Well – I'll have to find my friend – she – she's got some," I faltered.

"Hmph! Not likely! She's likely just another fellow pickpocketess! Out!" He pointed to the door, his face turning progressively redder with shouting. "Out I tell yeh! Yer not staying in my establishment! My establishment, family-owned and -run for two-and-seventy years! Out! Away, vagrant magpie!"

Someone from one of the tables nearby turned their head slightly, just enough for me to glimpse a black-masked face with a bit of auburn stubble on the chin.

"But Mr Whitehead –"

"OUT! DOAN' YOU CALL ME MR WHITEHEAD! Out, out, _OUT_!" he exclaimed, his stubby, lobster-coloured finger shaking with anger as he pointed at the door.

I was just about to rise when the same door swung open, and a tall, well-dressed figure strode in.

Whitehead slowly let his hand fall. He suddenly smiled – rather grotesquely, as his face was still a brilliant shade of purple. He hastily wiped his hand in his apron as though getting something particularly unpleasant off it. The apron, however, was so dirty that I am inclined to think that his hand would have been better off without doing this exercise.

"Why he-_llo_, Rose," beamed Whitehead.

The man was mad, I thought, for the newcomer was a lean fellow in scarlet breeches; he wore an elegant crimson floppy hat, with a black ribbon and a velvet buckle.

He smiled pleasantly as he walked in. "Why good day to you, Whitehead," he said in a calm, even voice. "How's the business?"

"Oh, not at its best, not at its best," said Whitehead, waggling his head again. "Had to put our prices up – not so many people stop by nowadays, and supporting a grown son…"

"…Can be expensive," finished the young man. "I know. I cost my father a great deal each year – this habit of mine of spending the family money really _is_ worthless. I really should consider reforming myself," he added as an afterthought, still smiling evenly.

"Fiddlesticks! Yer as good a lad as any I've seen! Yer nothin' to blame that yeh want to enjoy yourself." Of course not, I thought, especially if part of that "enjoying" meant eating a large, expensive meal at the inn.

"I do my best," smiled the other.

"Yer a good lad, yer a good lad," repeated the innkeeper, clapping his hand on the younger man's shoulder in an almost fatherly fashion. "Now, sit down, sit down."

The "lad" looked around the room. Every chair of every table was taken, except for…

"Do you mind if I sit here," he asked, addressing me as he pointed to the chair opposite.

I shook my head. I noticed the innkeeper was glaring at me as the man took a seat.

"So what will it be this time, Rose," he boomed genially.

"Dumpling soup, roast chicken with mashed potato and peas, and your wife's famous carrot cake for dessert, please," replied the young man.

"So that's one dumpling soup, one roast chicken –"

"No, Whitehead," said the young man, his hypnotic, olive eyes fixed on me so that I blushed, "lunch for _two_."

Whitehead seemed to have lost his speech. Making an abrupt, odd sort of semi-bow, he retreated backwards, tripping over the leg of a nearbytable in the process. Apparently uninjured, he turned around and scuttled off at a speed most surprising for one of his age.

The young man continued to smile as he doffed his hat, revealing a well-tamed set of thick, golden curls.

I was surprised to recognise the boy who had played the cello at my birthday ball.

"Please, let me introduce myself," he said, raising his velveteen eyebrows slightly as he spoke, the steady tone of his voice resonating through a pair of lips arranged into a slightly tilted smile.

"My name is Cyril Rose," he told me, displaying his set ofeven, pearlyteeth, "Cyril Bernard Rose."


	13. The Masked Men

**Chapter Thirteen: The Masked Men**

Cyril Rose and I sat cocooned in the rustic wooden surroundings of the Yellow Ram Inn, momentarily forgetting about the outside world; it was like a dream. The food came on golden plates fit for a king, wafting aromas that reminded me – achingly – of home. The soup was divine, the main meal superb, and the carrot cake…admittedly, the carrot cake was a tinsy bit too salty. But Cyril was perfect. His manners were easy and charming, his hair the heritage of a Raphaelite cupid, his smile that of a kindred spirit.

I found myself confiding in him almost as if he were an old friend. Though I didn't say I was Princess Esmerelda, I did tell him I had run away from home, and that I was searching for my brother, who had been kidnapped. Cyril offered his condolences, said he was sure my brother was alright, and generally made me feel better. I must say, the boy was a feast for the eyes, and I felt honoured by his interest in me.

Good things always come to an end: Whitehead interrupted our little _tete-a-tete_. He seemed to have a habit of gossiping with his customers, and Cyril was obviously a favourite on the premises. "These Masked Men make me feel uneasy, yeh know," said the old man, waggling his head. My heart leapt within me. _Masked Men - surely the M.M. of my brother's ransom note!_ Those highwaymen we had met before had kidnapped Redmond! For a moment I was too shocked to take anything else in.

When I tuned back into the conversation, Whitehead was saying, "I really doan' like the look of 'em, but they pay well. In jewels," he added in an undertone.

"Jewels? Really?" Cyril raised those perfect eyebrows. Though he seemed calm, I could feel the tension underlying the smoothness of his voice.

"Not so loud! They might hear yeh," said Whitehead in a hoarse whisper. "Yeh ne'er know where they mightn't be lurking, sniping about. Dastardly thieves, them."

"Oh really, Whitehead, never judge a bird by its feathers. Even the magpie cares well for its children," Cyril said, like the angel that he was; languidly, he tried to flick a stubborn curl from his forehead. But under his cool, lopsided smile I could sense apprehension.

"Quite, quite. All the same, _this_ Magpie, Hoodley's associate – he gives me the chills. Cold and hard, they say. Hoodley is brusque and brutal...but Magpie...he's a quiet one, and stern." Whitehead shuddered. "But as I told yeh...they pay well. I let them use the barn for a conference room," he said, suddenly bursting out laughing. Then, sobering, "Couldn't let them use anywhere central. Doan' want these masked, shady characters scarin' away my guests."

"Of course not," nodded Cyril understandingly, his brow somewhat perplexed as he tried to smooth out that single unruly curl. It wouldn't budge. He bit his lip; "Of course not," he echoed.

* * *

After lunch Cyril made an excuse ("some matters of importance to attend to", he said) and we parted, but not before he had given me his card. It read:

_Cyril Rose_

_12/2, The Interkingdom Hotel_

_Dancy 1087_

He most cordially invited me to visit, and even stay, any time I liked. I promised to do him the honour sometime, though in my heart I knew I could not go into the Interkingdom Hotel without being recognised. I did not mention this, however; manners are manners, I thought, secretly smiling at myself.

But as soon as I lost sight of Cyril's gentlemanly figure, my my mind became a whirlwind of panic-stricken thoughts. The Masked Men, those vagabonds, those steely-smirked savages of the highway, had kidnapped Redmond and might be endangering his life at that very moment. If the Masked Men were in the barn, it was imperative that I found them as soon as possible and rescued Redmond. With a pang I remembered I had last seen Nelly almost two hours ago with that hag; but this was important. Nelly was safe...while Red...dear Red...

I headed towards the barn, a large, two-storey building a little way off from the main one. It was on the edge of the woods, not far from the friendly remains of the haystack the crone and I had demolished. I must confess that I strode towards it with a strong sense of foreboding. There were many of those villains, but only one of me; they were armed, I had foolishly left my foil at home; and finally, they were strong men...I was a puny girl. The closer I got to the tall, stone building, the larger my misgivings became, and I was almost about to turn around and give myself some time to think of a plan when I heard a shattering cry.

"Red!" I exclaimed, bolting towards the door.

It was locked.

Another cry, even more heart-wrenching, resounded; and then there was silence.

I spotted a narrow set of stairs partially engulfed in straw on the right side of the building, and clambered up them. I flew through the Roman arch door to find -

Darkness. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust; once they did I saw that I was on a wide balcony supported by a rusty metal structure. And from below there issued another cry.

I staggered to the edge of the balcony, threw myself against the bars separating me and the sound in the gulf below.

What I saw was unbelievable.

* * *

The walls were lined with towering piles of hay and straw (Rumpelstiltskin danced through my mind), and a giant wooden structure supported the ceiling. At the far end of the barn was a circular space populated by five men with black cloaks, black masks and black moustaches.

Two of them were fencing; I had never seen a duel like that before. Both men were animated by a kind of black energy that made me shudder. The others, previously watching in silence and no doubt awe, now shouted and egged them on. Strangely enough, they seemed rather merry, as if life and death were but a sport. Even more bizarre was the fact that the opponents were thrusting lines from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ at each other.

"Thou losest labour," growled one, scoring a hit, "As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air /With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: /Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; /I bear a charmed life, which must not yield, /To one of woman born."

"Despair thy charm /And let the angel whom thou still hast served /Tell thee, Macduff was from his mummy's tomb /Untimely ripp'd," exclaimed the other, in a voice that was still breaking.

The first stopped abruptly, leading his enemy to plunge into mid-air and fall over head first. The effect was quite dramatic: everyone laughed.

It surprised me how natural and pleasant their laughter was, considering the violence and barbarism I had witnessed from them now and earlier on. I began to be seriously confused: the savage band of robbers kidnapping Redmond put on Shakespeare plays for entertainment?

The man who played Macbeth shook his head at his fallen opponent, though I could make out a distinct grin behind his moustache. "_No, _Tiger. It's 'Macduff was from his mother's womb' - _not_ 'mummy's tomb'! Get thy lines right, villain!"

The laughter doubled. "We need Magpie," sighed Macbeth, helping the crackly-voiced Macduff up onto his feet, "We need Magpie very sorely. Thou hast not the stuff of a man!"

"I am stuffed with all honourable virtues," recited the boy, smiling behind his overbearing moustache as he carelessly threw his foil to the ground.

"Yes, indeed you are," said Macbeth, raising his black eyebrows.

"Hoodley..." began one of the others.

"Yes?" Asked Macbeth.

"How is Redmond feeling?"

Macbeth, that is Hoodley, smirked; he then pronounced, in the deep, pompous voice of a circus ringmaster: "Redmond is dead. Dead...as a cane toad..."

They all laughed.

I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. Redmond - dead? Dead?! The laughter, before seemingly pleasant, became sinister to my ears, resounding in boiling dark blisters inside my forehead...I did not...could not...comprehend the word "dead". It rang through my ears, trembled through my body.

Seeing a long, thick rope extending from the ceiling, I climbed onto it and soared into the fathoms of darkness, plunging into the midst of the Masked Men. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I plunged onto Hoodley, for that is indeed what happened - I succeeded in knocking him over.

"What have you done to my brother?" I exclaimed breathlessly, seizing Macduff's foil from the ground and pointing it at Hoodley's neck. "What have you done to Redmond? - confess, this instant! You shall die for this!" My eyes blazed; I shook with an all-encompassing rage. At that moment I must have been on the verge of insanity.

It seemed that time had stopped: they all froze, and the only movement I could detect was the glinting of Hoodley's eyes behind the mask. The silence was punctuated by my hoarse breathing. Finally, Hoodley spoke. "Princess Esmerelda," he said, in a deep, measured voice, "take that foil away, and I will tell you what has befallen your brother."

Breathing hard, I didn't flinch.

"As you wish," he said softly. "Kill me then. But you will never find out Redmond's fate."

I bit the inside of my right cheek: tension overspread my body as, slowly, I withdrew the foil.

"Thank you," he said, gracefully standing up. We stood opposite each other: I still held the foil at the ready, lest he attacked. He surveyed me coolly. "Contrary to what you must have heard me say, Redmond is alive." I felt as though my whole being had swum upwards. "His death," continued Hoodley, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, "was a metaphorical one."

"Then where is he, why are you holding him captive?"

Hoodley cautiously edged his way around my foil, until I could feel his warm breath in my left ear. "Redmond is - "

- But he was interrupted by a shrill cry from the balcony.


	14. Cyril's Offer

**Chapter 14: Cyril's Offer **

...And then eerie yelping sounds pervaded the barn. I felt as though my heartstrings were being plucked by a harpist who had forgotten how to play the harp: dissonances cracked through my mind. The yelping became louder, and I ran towards it, looking for a way up to the balcony.

As I ran from them, I could hear the Masked Men discussing among themselves:

"It's probably a wild animal. You should go and make sure it doesn't eat her alive."

"Don't be ridiculous. Wild animals don't yelp like that - it's a dog!"

"I was _joking_, Hoodley! I mean, I know I'm never sarcastic or anything..."

"Give it a rest, Tiger. But one of us should go up and protect her. After all, a fragile woman..."

"...and our responsibility..."

"...and the chance of a _reward_..."

"...that's what I meant by 'responsibility', ignoramus..."

"R-right."

"Hoodley, d'you really think it's dangerous?"

"Enough talk! Grainger, you go, make sure nothing unsavoury happens. It could be a trick..."

And I heard brisk, business-like footsteps following me. I accelerated.

"Grainger, hurry!" - Hoodley's deep, sandy voice followed me as I clambered up a ladder that seemed to have helpfully appeared for my benefit.

I soon arrived at the top, to find not Redmond, nor any cudgelled canine, but -

"Peter Markovski!" Grainger did not sound pleased. "You've interrupted something important. Do you know what we're going to do to you..."

The imp grinned, and gestured wildly to me as he exclaimed in a stage whisper: "Out and away Elf! Out and away! I've got this one covered!"

"But Peter - I can't just - "

"_Go_, Elf! Run for your life!"

I was not under the impression that my life was in danger - the Masked Men were fairly civilised, take it all in all - but seeing his frantic gesticulations, I obeyed, and slipped out the open door into a shock of fresh air. As I left I could hear Peter inventing marvellous stories about why he was late and what reason he had for impersonating a starving dog.

As I tried to organise the zoo of my recalcitrant thoughts a figure waved from me from next to the demolished haystack. It was Nelly. "Elf! I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been!"

"In the land of mad-hat paradoxes," I called, descending the stairs with a light step. Redmond was alive - he was safe - that was all that mattered for the moment. I _would_ find him, I _would_ rescue him - but first I had to breathe a little, and find out where I stood. A plan, I decided, was vital.

As we walked towards the Inn, Nelly bombarded me with questions. I told her everything that had happened, and she looked thoughtful; "Macbeth, then," she said when I had finished, pursing her lips slightly. And then she smiled.

* * *

"You are such an otiose slug," I grumbled at myself, just as I had the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that...I stood in the kitchen of the Yellow Ram Inn, washing dishes: for such was the agreement, we would help out in the kitchen in return for food and a roof over our heads. Nelly had been enthusiastic: such generosity on Whitehead's part, such an easy way to make a living. I was never so sure. In my first few weeks I had broken eleven plates, eight glasses, ten bowls, not to mention the whole of the China tea set that had been through many generations of Whiteheads. But the upshot of it all was that my work in the kitchen prevented me from finding my brother. The Masked Men had left the Yellow Ram Inn almost as swiftly and suddenly as they had come to it, so I could no longer hope for any illumination from them.

The continual growth of the pile of broken porcelain next to the sink could be easily attributed to my lack of presence of mind: I was continually daydreaming, often about the rescue I would give Redmond, and sometimes about Prince James and the ring that I still had to return to him. Most often, though, I thought with a sigh of Jimmy. How could someone so good do something so bad? And what could he, of all people, want with my brooch? The mental chaos caused by the frequent visits of one Cyril Rose only further escalated my scattiness. For he always left me wondering if I did not perhaps prefer him to every other boy in the world - and always, though inadvertently, reminded me of Jimmy's crime. That day, it was by recalling the events of my sixteenth birthday.

He came into the kitchen smiling. "And how does my little princess of the kitchen?"

I blushed. "Very ill indeed. I just broke my twelfth plate."

He laughed. "You were evidently not meant for washing dishes. Your hands are so white, and soft..."

I felt my face grow hot. "Cy-ril...please..."

"Please what? You deserve to be admired. You are, above anything else, admirable. Slaving away for such a small salary..."

"Others work to keep alive, too. There is nothing admirable, nothing pitiable - yes, that's what you implied - about me. I am merely one of millions." Inwardly, of course, I agreed with him, and felt like a martyr.

"I don't think so," he replied. "You are very...singular. Your features are noble. Your hands have no callouses, no blisters. And yet your mien is that of a desperate scallywag..." He grinned. "You would be shocked if I told you whom you remind me of."

"Pray tell," I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

"Of a princess I once knew - Esmerelda. From the neighbouring kingdom, Starcastle. I remember her 16th birthday ball...she went dressed as Puss in Boots!"

"No!"

"Yes! What's more, she exchanged clothes with Prince James, so everyone thought she was a boy. They only found out when they unmasked James. Not a pretty sight. Of course, he's in mourning now. Nobody can see him."

"In mourning?"

"Yes! Didn't you know? Here we are in Emereldom, and you haven't heard...he's been in a strange melancholy ever since the day following Esmerelda's birthday. It is rumoured that she rejected his proposal. Ostensibly, he's mourning for the death of a friend of his. Nobody knows who. I believe it's just a pretext to stay away from the rest of society."

"Strange."

"Yes, he's an odd fellow. Never liked him much. Whereas Esmerelda...she's been kidnapped, and they can't figure out by whom. Some M.M., apparently. Until they find out the name of who it was, she'll be kept in custody. Rumpelstiltskinish. That's what the papers say, at least. I don't believe a word of it."

"You don't?"

"No." He paused. "It's no use. I've done with pretending. I know your secret, Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise."

The thirteenth plate slipped to its broken death. I hid my face.

"...And I will keep it faithfully," he continued. "But you must accept my offer, and come live with me at the Interkingdom Hotel."

"But - "

"Do not fear. We will disguise you so that nobody will recognise you." His lopsided grin returned, and, coming closer to me, he whispered in my ear: "They don't allow men and women to sleep in the same room anyway." Drawing away slightly, he winked. A strange feeling grew in me.

"Do you really mean...?"

"Yes, Esmerelda. I do."

Just then, Nelly burst into the kitchen. Cyril stepped back.

"Mr Rose," she said, curtseying stiffly. "You forget, I think, that guests aren't allowed in the kitchen."

"My memory is as full of holes as a piece of good cheese," said Cyril smoothly. "I aplogise. It won't happen again. Ladies -" He bowed, and exited the room.

Nelly gave me a dark look, took the lasagne she had prepared out of the oven, and whisked it out through the other door.

Though somewhat perturbed by her apparent ill-will, I smiled: a wild excitement was beating in my chest. I knew that freedom, and Redmond's rescue, lay close at hand.


	15. Nelly's Secret

**Chapter Fifteen: Nelly's Secret**

I lay in my narrow single bed in our room upstairs, staring at the blank moonlit ceiling. Nelly, in her white lace nightgown, was fast asleep in the bed next to mine. I envied her peace of mind. My thoughts whirled through my head like a colourful hurricane: Cyril and I had agreed to meet in the woods at dawn. My life would change: he would take me to the Interkingdom Hotel, and I would never wash another dish. I would find Redmond, and extricate him from slavery (or so I imagined), extricate him from the clasps of the Masked Men. How exactly I was going to do this, I did not know; but first of all, I would investigate. The Interkingdom Herald would be a start.

But I was most concerned about Nelly. She had become like a sister to me, and I would have to leave her without so much as saying goodbye. How could I tell her I was leaving for the Interkingdom Hotel with Cyril Rose? Secrecy was vital - he had made me swear not to tell a soul about our plan. Besides...she made her contempt for him obvious.

Furthermore, she would certainly disapprove if she knew of the disguise I had hidden in my private drawer in the dressing table at the far side of our room. It was a royal hunting costume: a medieval-style off-white shirt and a velvet green vest, coupled with pale green tights. A feathered felt brown hat and crossbow completed the outfit. The other weapon I had hidden between the folds of my new clothing was a pair of scissors that glinted in the moonlight. Cyril, of course, had supplied it all.

My insomnia was shielded by a mock sleep. Were Nelly to wake up, she would never guess that I was in mental turmoil; even Snow White's sleep of death could not have been more convincing. By midnight I still had not succeeded in dropping off, and I resigned myself to the fact that I would be a bleary-eyed zombie in the morning. But, to my amazement, I heard Nelly stir beside me. Almost noiselessly, she tiptoed towards the door, opened it, and vanished into the darkness.

I followed suit, and found myself in the long corridor that led to every room in the living quarters of the Yellow Ram. I stopped to listen; the sound of whispering voices betrayed itself from the room next to ours. I leant against the door and strained to hear what they were saying.

I could make out two voices: the first was Nelly's, the second that of a man. The latter was saying the following: "Surely you could not have been at a loss to understand...I admire you Nelly. Don't my eyes betray it every time we meet? Do I really have to explain it to you, to verbalise this...this ineffable feeling?"

"No...I always felt it," said Nelly softly. "I was too timid to believe what I felt from you. I thought..."

"What did you think?"

"Never mind what I thought."

"No, tell me...what did you think?"

"I thought you and...Tara..."

"That wretched girl! No. There was never anything. My dear Nelly! That you could have even for a moment thought..."

"I'm glad there was never anything." Nelly's voice was ponderous. "Never..."

There was a long silence. I felt a gigantic, overpowering laugh brimming inside me - a laugh for pure joy. For the man's voice was, unmistakably, Redmond's.

* * *

My first impulse was to burst in on them and strangle them with hugs, but on reflection, I thought it wiser to refrain. I must play the play out until the very end: it was now my turn to take the upper hand in the direction of this charade. Redmond kidnapped! Fiddlesticks...and now I thought of the witch with a buoyant merriment, choking my laughter before it made any sound. Fiddlesticks! That witch, whoever she was, had been sent by Redmond to tell me not to worry about him...Redmond, I was certain, had plotted it all. He had hired the Masked Men to test me! They were probably phoneys too...and Peter...oh dear, little Peter...

And Nelly. The inward laughter subsided: suddenly all was solemn. Nelly - hadn't she always said she was going to Thorny to meet someone? Wasn't she too gentle, polite, and well-spoken to be anybody but a princess? (Not all princesses were gentle, polite, and well-spoken, prodded another voice in my head, but in my happiness I wouldn't listen.) Princess Nell - now my very dear friend, after the addition of a letter to the end of her nickname. I felt happy for her and Redmond - happy - and yet a little sad, that they hadn't told me earlier, that they had acted out this farce without so much as giving me a hint...

I would be revenged. With a new determination rising within me, I smiled in the darkness, and withdrew into our room. The lovers, I speculated, would doubtless stay together till the crack of dawn. And I...I, Princess Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, had work to do.

And when a princess has work to do...she does it. And I did. I did it with a vengeance - the drawer was opened, emptied, and reinstated with a good feed of my thick black hair. Reaching into the pocket of my new outfit, I drew out the final touch: the fake moustache. "Thanks Cyril," I whispered gleefully, and, glancing into the mirror, paused for two long seconds. There I was: a prince, decked out for the royal hunt. My eyes sparkled in the reflection: I barely recognised myself.

I bundled up my few belongings and put them in the drawer. I would not be needing them. Prince James' ring I left on my finger. I still had to return it. And with one last, lingering look at the mirror, I left.

A moment later, the next room received a sharp knock on the door. There was a dead silence: I wondered whether they were still in there. At length, the handle moved, and the door opened. My cheery grin fell: it was not my brother, but a typically cloaked, masked, and moustached Hoodley.

"Yes?" he asked coolly. His voice was as coarse and - erm - hoarse as ever I had known it.

"An urgent message for one Redmond, sir," I said, as coarsely and hoarsely as I could. My heart was in my mouth.

"He is not here," said Hoodley. "You can give it to me, he trusts me."

"I assure you, sir, it is the most confidential matter," I said, with a shade of arrogance. "Redmond's friend asked me to pass on this message. I am the Duke of Monte Agosto, their mutual friend." I bowed slightly, flicking off my hat to reveal my shorn head.

"Charmed, I'm sure," he said grittily - with a hint of amusement.

"The message," I said, leaning in to him confidentially, "is from Jimmy Meralds."

He suddenly stiffened. "So you really are..." he paused. His eyes glistened; the moonlight cast a ghostly light on his face, amplifying the play between light and shadow. He looked like a statue. "You had better come in," he said quietly.

"Thank you." I followed him inside. Nelly was sitting on a wooden chair by the window. She looked wraith-like, unearthly: the moonbeams had spun their spell over her too.

"It is my duty to find out what this message is," said Hoodley. "I will give it to Redmond as soon as may be."

"I regret it, sir, but I cannot do that. To Redmond alone will I entrust the message."

"Indeed you shall regret it!" he said fiercely. "Have you any idea what has been going on? Riots, strikes in Emeraud, and the same in Starcastle City - we are at the dawn of a revolution! The information you carry may change the fate of...thousands...of people, and yet you withhold it from me?"

"Tell me where Redmond is."

"There is no friend of Redmond's that is not also a friend of Hoodley's," he said evasively. "Tell me instead - where have we met before? What balls do you attend, which clubs do you go to?" He mocked me; I was silent. "If you are so very good a friend of Redmond's, why have we not met before?...Or are you one of those good-for-nothings who _pretend_ to be interested in rescuing him from his kidnappers?"

"Redmond has not been kidnapped," I said, feeling the venom dance through my veins. "In fact, not such a long time ago he was in this very room..."

Nelly let out a small, shivery sigh. "Be quiet!" Hoodley hissed at her. "And as for you..." he turned back to me, his eyes glowing. All of a sudden he whisked out his foil; I could feel the cold metal at my neck. I stepped back, but the further I went, the more he closed in on me...

...I felt the cold plaster wall against my back. "Well, then, my hero," he taunted, "Any last words?" Nelly whimpered by the window. "Are you sure you don't want to let me in on this big secret, after all?"

"No sir," I said stubbornly. I knew my life was safe while he thought I had precious information for him.

"Very well then," he said smoothly. "Nelly...fetch the ropes."

I could hear a the sound of something rustling, and sure enough, soon the thick, hard ropes cut firmly into my wrists. "You do wrong, sir," I cried at my persecutor.

"Stubborn mules must be taught their lesson," he said insolently. Taking a swig from a calf-skin bottle that was permanently attached to his belt, he made towards the door. "Nelly," he said, as he left, "comfort the gentleman a little. The night is cold."

He shut the door silently behind him. Nelly Jane and I were left alone in the moonlight-speckled darkness.


	16. Fires and Flowers

**A/N:** Ridiculously short chapter, I know - 99 per cent re-written and, I hope, 100 per cent improved. I am very short of time at the moment and writing this is a guilty pleasure. Nevertheless, I know I have a responsibility to my readers to finish the story, so that I am not the only person in the world who knows how all the disparate threads create a tapestry.

I hope with all my heart that you enjoy it.

**Chapter Sixteen: Fires and Flowers**

"You mustn't take him too literally," said Nelly eventually, breaking the silence. "He's a good man...just a little overstretched."

"Overstretched? A good man? He almost sent me to my grave!" I fumed in my fine contralto.

"He thinks you're a spy," she said quietly.

"And you? Do you think that too?"

She got up and paced towards me. The moon touched her face with an unearthly luminiscence. "To tell the truth, Duke of Monte Agosto," she said timidly, "I don't see any other explanation."

"I came to deliver Jimmy's message to Redmond," I said softly, measuring my words to give them particular emphasis. "You are treating me most unjustly!"

"That may be," replied Nelly cautiously, "but you must admit that listening behind doors is not particularly gentlemanly."

"I could not help overhearing!" This was not true. Rather ashamed of myself, I fell silent again.

"What...exactly...did you hear between me and Redmond, anyhow?"

"Almost nothing," I said, recovering, "only the bit about Princess Tara and..."

"Ah." She sounded embarrassed. "Didn't you - " But at that moment, Hoodley burst back into the room.

"She's gone!" he exclaimed.

"Who's gone?" said Nelly and I in a chorus.

"Esmerelda's gone! She's disappeared into thin air!" He threw his hands up, and let them fall, helplessly.

"Oh no!" Nelly sounded anxious. "Do you think it has something to do with Cyril Rose?"

"I think it has _everything_ to do with Cyril Rose," said Hoodley vehemently.

"Pardon me for interrupting," I said innocently, "but who is this Esmerelda?"

From the expression on Hoodley's shadowy, masked face, he was surprised to find there was a third person in the room. But he smiled affably; and although I was understandably prejudiced against him, I did have to admit he had a certain style about him. He now held a candle that cast a faint glow over his body, revealing a handsome black doublet and hose under his velvet black cloak. His foil was gracefully slung through his belt. "Haven't you heard of the infamous Princess Esmerelda, who created scandal at her birthday ball by switching costumes with our own Prince James? And her rumoured abduction, which...unfortunately...did not take place?"

"Hoodley!" exclaimed Nelly reproachfully. But she was smiling.

"Well, we shall track down Cyril Rose," said Hoodley, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "They shouldn't be hard to find. And as for _you,_" he said, turning towards me, "You shall tell us what it was that Jimmy said, _if_ you desire your liberty back any time in the next ten years."

"It is for Redmond's ears alone. If he wishes he may repeat it to you. But I must tell Redmond."

Hoodley frowned. "What is it you _want, _Duke of Monte Agosto? Money?" He jingled a pouch of ducats in front of my eyes. It was alluring, but I pressed my lips together into a firm line and shook my head. "What then," said Hoodley. "Name your price!" He swaggered sideways into the moonlight-dappled darkness.

"I will tell you," I said, "If you cut these ropes and lead me to Redmond."

Hoodley pursed his lips. "Not exactly modest, are we?" he asked, musingly. "Well! Alright, we will humour you this once. Nelly - cut the ropes. Carefully - you wouldn't like to scratch him." He raised his eyebrows. Nelly obeyed, and within seconds I was free.

"Now, Nelly, go and get the horses. Duke, your _friend_ Redmond is in Thorny Castle, not three miles from here." He paced as he spoke, and put his candle onto the window sill. A strong gust of wind blew the window open and extinguished the small, hungry flame, and we were again cast into darkness. "Now, pray," said Hoodley, once Nelly had exited the room, "speak."

I bit my lips. I hadn't any message, and I knew nothing of the revolutions he said were going on in the cities. I decided that the safest - indeed the only - route was to give him a code. "Fires and flowers," I said shortly.

"Fires and flowers?" Hoodley laughed. "That's ridiculous! Trust old Jim to be circumspect..."

"Sir?"

"Jimmy and I," said Hoodley, smiling, "went to school together. We were great pals. Very great indeed. We used to meet up with several of the other boys in secret - that, indeed, was the beginnings of the Masked Men."

I opened my mouth in amazement.

"Yes...it was our dearest dream, back then, to start up something like that. And now, here we are, grown men, and we have done it..." He smiled, as if pleasurable memories were passing through his mind. I shuddered. "Well," he said briskly, when he had recovered himself, "Fires and flowers. I don't suppose he means..." He again lost himself in thought; he only returned to the present moment when Nelly came back to say the horses were ready.

"Very good, Nelly," said Hoodley. "Duke...follow me." He lit another candle, and unlocked the door.

"You treat her like a servant," I muttered, as we walked through the corridor.

"Who, Nelly?" said Hoodley. "And how should I treat her?"

I decided to say nothing. The idea began to form in my mind, that perhaps they had kidnapped her too, and had made her a kind of slave to them. The darkness was chilling; as we rode off into the forest, our breath formed wispy clouds of silver. For all I knew, he was leading me into a trap, but I had to follow him, I had to find out whether he was speaking the truth about Redmond. I just had to.


	17. Thorny Castle

**Chapter Seventeen: Thorny Castle**

After an eternity of thick, black forest, we arrived at a clearing.

"Well," droned Hoodley, "here it is." In front of us was a ruined castle, dimly lit from the inside by candelight. "Thorny Castle," commented my guide. "Built in the 1400's. The perfect hideout for a band of criminals." I was surpised by his casual tone; even more surprised when he added, "Not that we are a band of criminals." He blew a few silvery clouds onto the navy canvas of air before him; I fancied he smiled in the darkness. "You must realise what an honour you are being paid, to be admitted into our castle."

"I do almost wonder at your generosity," I said cautiously.

"I imagine you must think you're in a trap," was the ponderous reply.

"I do admit it seems likely."

"It is very...noble, of you, Duke of Monte Agosto, to come all this way to find out your friend's whereabouts."

"I pledged myself to do so."

"Very noble," he muttered. "Well, enough talk. Let's go in."

We dismounted from our horses and tied them up securely to a pine tree, then we trudged up the slight slope to the castle. Hoodley rapped on the huge wooden gate in a peculiar rhythm; within moments, it creaked open, although there was nobody to be seen on the other side.

"After you," said Hoodley, with another invisible smile.

I walked through the gate's arch, struck by the strange intensity of the crumbling sandstone it was made of. I half-expected bats, or the witch I had met in the cave - but there was nothing. There was only Hoodley and I, and the silence.

"A pretty old place, ain't it?" mused Hoodley.

I nodded, though my thoughts were elsewhere. Where were the rest of the Masked Men? And how close was I to finding my brother? Either I would see him now, or never again. It could really be a trap: I had no weapon (my rusty crossbow I had left behind) and I was on_ their_ territory. For a moment my legs seemed to give way beneath me. I was entirely startled when Hoodley gave a sonorous "cooee!"

A troop of black-hatted, -moustached and -booted soldiers came marching in. There were four of them.

Hoodley signalled for them to stop. "Gentlemen," he announced, "allow me to introduce you to the Duke of Monte Agosto, our honoured guest." There was not a shade of sarcasm in his voice, but I doubted he was sincere. "Duke," he said, turning to me, "Let me introduce Tiger, Byrd, Grainger and Peterkin," he said, pointing as he spoke. Each of the men gave a curt bow. I nodded in recognition.

"These gentlemen," continued Hoodley, "will entertain you. I will go and notify Redmond of your presence, and see if he is fit to receive you."

His moustache tilted as he smiled in a blackguard-like fashion, and he disappeared around a sandstone corner.

There was an awkward silence. Peterkin fumbled with his hat, only to drop it, revealing a crop of elfin brown hair that was very much at odds with his black moustache. I realised who it was, and turned to hide a smile.

"I - erm," he piped, blushing a feminine pink as he retrieved the hat and returned it to its position on his head, "I hope you had a pleasant journey here?"

"Very," I said coolly.

"Ah," said Peterkin.

"The forest is very thick," remarked Tiger, whom I recognised as the crackly-voiced Macduff from the barn.

"Yes," I said, unable to avoid a smile, "it is."

"Very dark, too, at this time of night," said Grainger, arrogantly.

"Quite," I said, my smile falling.

"Rather dangerous, I'd imagine," added Byrd.

"Rather," I replied. "Listen, gentlemen. While your master is...'preparing' my friend Redmond, I have a proposal to make of you." I strode forwards, stealing a sideways glance at Peterkin with no small glee. "If you oblige me, you may be rewarded with _quite_ a sum of money."

Tiger whistled; Grainger looked suspicious, and the other two held an ambiguous silence.

"Go on," said Grainger.

"Firstly, I would like to know how it was that Redmond came to be let out of here so that he could have a rendezvous with his paramour Princess Nell?"

Grainger put his hand on the hilt of his rapier, Tiger gasped, and Peterkin made a violent movement forwards that made his hat fall off again.

"Have you spoken to Redmond?" demanded Tiger.

"He would be most unwise to speak to a stranger," growled Grainger.

"That makes it more exciting!" exclaimed Peterkin, as he scrambled to collect his hat.

"Prince Redmond is no stranger to me," I said gravely. "I have known him since I was a little - child. But no, I have not spoken to him, which is why I have come here."

"I knew at once there was something fishy," said Grainger. "Else he would not have brought you here."

"I beg to remind you," I replied with animation, "that it was Hoodley, not Redmond, who took me to this place! But let that be. Is it true then, that Redmond can have his liberty at times? Under supervision, perhaps?"

Grainger glanced at Byrd, questioning him with his eyes. And then he turned to me, scrutinously. "As to the nature of Redmond's captivity here," he said, slowly, "you will be able to question him yourself."

I nodded.

"Now," said Tiger, "let us begin the entertainment." Before I knew it, all was black before my eyes - he had blindfolded me.

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed.

"Redmond's exact whereabouts are a secret," replied Tiger's voice. "We will lead you to him. But first..." He forced me to rotate on the spot several times, until I was somewhat dizzy and definitely disoriented.

"Do you treat all guests in this way?" I asked, a little bewildered.

"Only the most important ones," laughed Byrd's voice mirthlessly.

"Come," said Peterkin. "We will lead you to the place."

* * *

When Peterkin removed my blindfold, I could see by the gloamy light of his dripping candle that we were in a hallway with gothic, glassless windows and a battered oak door .

"Redmond is behind the door," said Peterkin nonchalantly.

"But - I want to see him!"

"Not possible, I'm afraid. You might try to devise some means for his escape!"

"Little scoundrel," I muttered to myself.

"What, sorry?"

"I'll pay you well," I translated, grinning. Peterkin, by the looks of it, was no more a villainous upstart than I was. His outfit made him, with his straggly, boyish physique, look like a character out of a pantomime.

He coughed distinguishedly. "Many thanks," he said, after coughing up a deep voice. He went and knocked on the door. "Your visitor is here, Your Highness."

"What does he want?" said Redmond's voice from within.

"He claims he is a childhood friend, and insisted that he see you at any cost."

"Who is he?"

"The Duke of Conte Agosto."

"_Monte_ Agosto," I whispered.

"Monte Agosto. Sorry."

From what I could hear, Redmond was laughing inside. "Alright," he said, "let him speak."

"I would prefer if this conversation could be private," I said hesitantly.

"No problem," said Peterkin. " - Except for one. I have strict orders from Hoodley to oversee this conversation."

"Why could Hoodley not oversee it himself?"

"They are making sure I cannot escape," said Redmond from behind the door. "I have got used to it. C'est la vie."

"I would still prefer our conversation to be private. Maybe if," I glanced at Peterkin, "you locked us in together?"

"No," said Peterkin stoutly. "A word of honour is a word of honour, and I am most..." - he hiccuped - "honourable. I'm afraid I promised Hoodley I would not leave you alone together, so I will stay here, as firm as a pillar."

"Well, that's not very firm, is it," retorted Redmond, "all the ones around here are crumbling to pieces."

"Point," I smiled.

"Details, details," sniffed Peterkin. "Now...please. Be my guest. Converse."

"Redmond," I said as I leant against the door, preserving my deep voice out of necessity, "I'm come to..."

"If you're from the palace," interrupted my brother, "I'm not interested. You can tell them that this place is damp, dreary, and rotting to bits; I'm starving to death and the only company I get are rats and the occasional obliging toad. But I'd still prefer to be here than at the palace. For the hundredth time, I do _not _want to marry Princess Tara."

"I am from the palace," I said, casting a long glance at Peterkin, who was engrossed in tickling the point of his chin with the feather on his hat. "But I'm...a friend."

"Easily said!"

"Redmond, honestly," I said, getting desperate, "I cannot tell you who I am, but do at least try to help me."

"Help you! I'm the next thing to a shade from the underworld, and you expect me to help you!" There was laughter in his voice. "My dear friend - if friend you are - I cannot see how I can _help_ you. But please, go on."

"I have known you since you were very little."

"Happy coincidence! Are you perhaps my nurse in diguise?"

"No."

"The court jester?"

"No."

"Oh, that's right, he died years ago. Poor Yorick. I knew him, Agosto."

"Hamlet!" exclaimed Peterkin. And then he went back to examining the feather.

"We used to go out into the forest together," I said, hoping he would catch on.

"The imperial woodcutter! Why did I not know you from the _first_!"

"No," I said, impatiently, "I am not the woodcutter. If you must know, I have a brother who has a sister who is in much the same situation as I am right now. She is talking to her brother and trying to make him understand!"

"A madman," breathed Redmond.

"_Red!_" It was hopeless. He wasn't taking me seriously. There was only one thing to do.

"Peterkin," I said, pleasantly, "That is a very nice hat you have there."

"Very nice indeed," agreed Peterkin, a flush of delight on his boyish face, "It was a gift from a friend."

"Would you let me have a look at it?"

"Please yourself," he said, handing it to me smilingly.

The smile was distorted into a look of horror as I threw it out the nearest gothic window.

"Now, Peterkin," I said, amused by his theatrical expression, "If you go and retrieve your hat, and don't come back until an hour has elapsed, I will pay you five hundred ducats, by and by." I did not have five hundred ducats in all the world, but eventually I thought I would retrieve them from the palace treasury in Starcastle.

"Five hundred ducats! Oh yes, sir!" he exclaimed eagerly, and whizzed out of sight before you could say Robinson Crusoe.

"That's better," I muttered. I pushed against the door with all my might, hoping it would give way, but the old thing was too strong for me.

"What are you doing?" asked Redmond's voice from within.

"Red," I said in my normal voice, "It's Elf. I've come to rescue you."

"_Elf_!" The surprise was complete; within seconds rumbling laughter could be heard from behind the door. "You little devil!" he exclaimed, hardly able to keep his voice straight, "You - "

"Thanks for the welcome," I laughed.

There was a diminuendo in his merriment. "You don't know what danger you might be in."

"None, I imagine. These Masked Men of yours are a fine lot. All cloaks and daggers but they wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"What makes you think that? My God, Elf, I still can't believe it's you!"

"Well, they're rather gentlemanly, really. And they're always letting me escape their clutches. _And_ they let you talk to Princess Nell at the Yellow Ram earlier tonight," I said meaningfully.

"How did you know it was Princess Nell?"

"_Deduction_, my dear Watson. Unfortunately, your sweetheart seems to be in with them too."

"She's not what you might think," pleaded Redmond.

"Perhaps not. But she certainly could persuade this Hoodley fellow to let you go. They're - permit me to use the phrase 'as thick as thieves'."

This occasioned another outburst of laughter from behind the door. "It's good to hear your voice again, Elf. You are the most valiant sister any man could hope for."

"Yes, well, valiant or not, I have to get you out of here."

"Ah. That. Well, I may as well tell you the truth. I don't want to be rescued."

"You what?!"

"I was actually planning my kidnapping myself to get out of the palace, out of the Prime Minister's marriage plans for me He wants to foist Tara on me! Do you expect I would endure that to happen? Never!"

"So you mean - you're here voluntarily?"

"Well, funnily enough, someone else was planning to kidnap me as well. Unfortunately we don't know who he was. Works incognito, according to Peterkin."

"Probably the Prime Minister," I said. "Because you didn't want to marry Tara. In fact, maybe he would have kidnapped us both had I not run away, so that we wouldn't threaten his position of superiority at the throne!"

"It is possible," said Redmond doubtfully.

"Admit it, Redmond, Father's a puppet. And as to Stepmama..."

"You see, that's who I think did it. She paid the Masked Men to kidnap me, so the heir to the throne would be gone and when Father _does _fall ill and die one day, she will have power to herself!"

"And you propose to sit here, and rot away like the rest of the castle? Good God, Red, I wouldn't let them succeed for a kingdom."

"There's not much we can do, Elf. And I really am quite happy here. The Masked Men are, as you say, fairly gentlemanly. They provide me with food, shelter..."

"I never thought I would see the day I could call my brother a coward!" I exclaimed. "We can't let them get away with whatever it is they're trying to do!"

"You're right. But how you expect to get me out of here, I would very much like to know."

"There has to be _some_ way," I said, despairingly.

"_I'm afraid not_," said a cool, deep voice from behind me.

I turned. It was a man of about my height who wore a more ornate version of the uniform of the Masked Men; he held a flickering candle in his gloved hand. He bowed deeply. "Magpie at your service," he said softly, silkily. "You had better come with me."


	18. The Vanishing Prince

**Chapter Eighteen: The Vanishing Prince**

We bustled down the corridor, him tugging me by the arm. He did not bother to blindfold me, so I saw every hole in the floor, every tortuous flight of stairs, every lifeless cobweb. He led me to a dark room in the lower storey of the castle, and locked the door behind him.

"Please," he said, smoothly, "sit down." He indicated a chair in the middle of the room.

My insides crept at the sight of him, but I was struck by the strange, warm feeling that grew within me at the same time. Though I despised him I had to allow that he commanded respect from head to toe.

Courtesy breeds courtesy. I sat.

He drew near me until I felt the tingling heat of the candle's flame near my face. Then, the light descended, until it chanced upon the ring on my finger. A sudden jink, zig-zag of light, and the flame disappeared. We were left with only moonlight.

"Why did you come here," he asked, softly, almost gently. There was a strange luminiscence in his voice - a kind of midnight music I had heard somewhere before.

"I came to find Redmond."

"And did you find him?"

"Yes," I said, hesitantly.

There was a pause. He gave a forced laugh. "Forgive me. I must seem strange to you." His mask glowed with iridescent nothingness; his eyes glinted by the moonlight. And then he turned away, pacing the room. "I have heard that you a friend of Cyril Rose's," he said.

"I am, yes."

"You associate yourself with him?"

"Yes."

"He helps you in the paths of life?"

"...Yes."

He stopped pacing abruptly, heaving a sigh. "Alright. You can go." There was bitterness in his voice.

"Go, sir?"

"Wherever you please! But never, _never_ do you understand, return here."

"I do not understand, sir - "

"It is all a pointless charade, humiliating in every respect. Go, then, do you hear me?"

I got up.

"But you will give me that ring," he breathed, "the ring on your finger."

"The ring, sir? But why - "

Just at that moment, the door was unlocked, and a candle-bearing Hoodley and company burst in like a solar flare.

"Hoodley," said Magpie, surprised - embarrassed. "How did you - "

"You are perhaps unaware that there is a second key to this room," grunted Hoodley, holding up his key.

"Yes, I - I was," stuttered Magpie.

"I still haven't found my hat," piped Peterkin. The others sniggered.

"That aside," intoned Hoodley, " - you're lying."

"Me?" I mouthed.

Hoodley shook his head. "Magpie." All faces turned to the unfortunate man. "_You_ would have us believe that you were at a conference in Emeraud Palace, but I have found out," he said, holding up a piece of paper, "that the conference was cancelled due to royal indisposition." He paced sideways. "Why?"

"I was doing research."

"On the revolutionaries?"

"No."

"The government?"

"No."

"Who then?"

"I have been following a person," said Magpie, rendered almost hoarse by emotion, "who..."

"Well?"

"That is to say," stuttered Magpie, "the person who is the stem of my problems. Our problems."

"Ah, Redmond's kidnapper!"

"Yes...maybe."

"Well, who is it?"

"Who is it _indeed_!" cried a new, high-pitched voice. In the door stood Princess Tara - in peasant's clothes. "We shall have him hanged, won't we, Scruffy?" she asked, tickling the Maltese terrier she held in her arms.

"I would not go to such desperate measures," said Hoodley coolly.

"_Really_? How fascinating. But _I_ would." Her beauty was livid by the candle-light; she looked like some sort of female demon. "If it were not for this infamous kidnapping business, Redmond and I would be husband and wife by now!"

"God thank the kidnapper, then," muttered Hoodley. Peterkin started to cough a little too violently.

"_And_ I hold you _all_ personally responsible!" added Tara with gusto.

"Now we've got it," breathed Byrd.

"Yes - you - have. Release Redmond _at this instant_ or I shall report you to the police!"

"There _is_ no police in Emereldom," objected Peterkin.

"Then to the royal guards! People such as you do not finish well, _mark my words_."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to release Redmond," said Hoodley calmly.

"Why not? I demand justice!"

"Because," said Hoodley, "he is gone."

"Gone! How can he be gone?"

"He is. He has disappeared from the tower. You can see for yourself."

"Didn't you _watch_ him?"

"Of course we did, diligently and properly, as ordered. But he has escaped somehow."

"No!" cried Tara.

"You should be glad," said Magpie sonorously. "You wanted us to free him - he has freed himself."

"_I_ wanted to free him!" she exclaimed.

"We're sorry," said Hoodley. "But there's nothing we can do."

I strode towards Tara with a calculating air. "I was talking to Redmond several minutes ago," I said, darting a smile at Hoodley. "If he is gone," I said, bowing in towards Tara, "_he cannot be far_."

The horrified expression on the visible part of Hoodley's face was reward enough. I was certain that, had Peterkin had been in possession of his hat, he would have dropped it.

* * *

We searched for Redmond all over the castle, but did not find him; Hoodley's veracity seemed to be confirmed. Huffing and puffing like an elderly dragon, Tara was eventually forced to concede that there was nothing else to be done. He was gone. I offered to escort her to Thorny, and she accepted. The Masked Men did not lift a finger to stop me; they let me use the horse on which I had come, and Magpie didn't breathe another word about the ring.

I will not tire you with the details of the trip back: needless to say, it was rather unpleasant. Tara sighed at regular intervals, as though she were offering counterpoint to the little night wind and the rustling of the leaves. When she did speak she only complained: these boorish Masked Men, this mysterious villain who had ordered for Redmond to be kidnapped and as a result caused her so much grief. Nevertheless, I found myself smiling. Though in reality the forest was as thick and dark as ever, in my mind I fancied I saw a clearing with soft, pure light cadencing through it. I had not arrived there yet, mentally; but I was comforted in the knowledge that it was there.

We parted at the Yellow Ram at the first rays of dawn. It was then that the thunderbolt came.

"Farewell, Duke of Monte Agosto," she said, with a brilliant fake smile. "I hope we meet again someday."

"I daresay we might," I said (hoping the exact opposite).

"I am staying at the Interkingdom Hotel. If you are ever nearby...do not hesitate to call."

"I will remember your kindness." (Kindness!)

"As I will remember the brutality of these masked ogres. I must find Redmond," she said, pursing her lips, "before he gets hurt. He is my fiance, you know."

I professed my ignorance on the subject. She smiled. "Yes, well...it _was_ a secret. But now, with his kidnapping..." She sighed; the dark rings around her eyes created the look of a vintage vampiress. "It is time enough, anyhow, to finally break the silence. We met at an Interkingdom College picnic three years ago - and fell head over heels for each other." I opened my mouth in amazement. I did remember Redmond disappearing into the bushes for long periods of time, but I had never dreamed... "Yes, it was sweet," she continued, her hazel eyes fixed on me, "mere children though we were. He proposed - and since then, we have been secretly engaged."

"So neither of you have met anybody else since that time?"

She raised her eyebrows slightly, her smile fixed, unflinching. "No."

Poor Nelly! I thought. So _that_ was what she had been worried about. And Redmond had lied - was it possible? I could not believe it; I gazed past Tara, unseeing, paralysed by this strange idea painted in bright colours...

"Well, thank you again for escorting me back here," she said. "It took me a lot of trouble to find out their hideout - I even had to bribe one of the men..."

I shot up in my saddle. "Jimmy?"

"No," she frowned, "Magpie."

There was a silence; and then she slowly began to canter away from me.

"So long, dear Duke," she called, blowing me an air-kiss.

"Arrivederci," I shouted after her. And then I put the horse in the stable and went to find Cyril.

"Is that you, Elf?" he said, once I had found him in the pleasant glade we had agreed would be our meeting-place. The autumn leaves cracked and crumbled beneath my boots as I went to hug him. "You look spiffing!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Though maybe a little tired," he added, with that lovely, understanding voice of his.

"I didn't get a wink all night," I admitted.

"Well, you can sleep in the carriage. It's picking us up in Thorny Village in half an hour. We'd better start walking, slowly."

"Cyril...wait. There's something I have to tell you." I paced back and forth, suddenly distracted by the intensity of the idea that now presented itself in my mind.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, crinkling his smooth forehead as he raised those silky eyebrows. The birch trees creaked as the wind gently bent them; all was a swirl of white, grey and different hues of orange and gold.

I stopped pacing. I had to tell him - he was the only person earth that I could trust absolutely at that moment. "I may be wrong," I began, "...I _may_ be wrong. But I have just gotten back from Thorny Castle - and there I found my brother."

"Wonderful," he said, heartily. "Congratulations. And did you rescue him? Did they want a ransom?"

"Once before...months ago, now! - I learnt that they would release him, if he only found out the name of his kidnapper."

"Go on."

"I think I know the name of his kidnapper. It is Redmond."

"But - that doesn't make sense..." He smiled, affably; I read in that smile the thought that I was crazy. But I continued.

"Redmond wanted to escape marriage with Princess Tara, whom perhaps you know." I glanced at him; his smile had diminished somewhat, and he looked perplexed.

"Princess Tara?" he asked, reviving that smile, hinting that he did not quite understand.

"Yes...she was at my birthday ball. The tall, proud one." I paused; his silence and intentness encouraged me, and I felt it was too late to stop now. "They have been secretly engaged for three years," I breathed.

"Secretly engaged?" he laughed. "That's the stuff of fairytales!"

"I know," I said sombrely. "_I_ begin to think that he arranged to have himself kidnapped to get away from her."

"It is possible, of course," he replied, smirking ever so slightly. "But what kind of a man kidnaps himself? I mean, he might run away...but kidnapping...it seems too authentic."

"He did actually say that he had _thought_ of arranging for himself to be kidnapped, but that someone had beaten him to it." I paused. "Maybe you're right. Maybe someone really _did_ kidnap him. But who would want to do that? I can only think of our Prime Minister...or Tara, revenging herself on him for preferring Princess Nell to her."

"He does prefer Nell, does he?"

"Yes," I said fervently, "he does. There's another thing, though, that makes me think that he might be his own kidnapper."

"Which is?"

"Well, Tara arrived at the castle not fifteen minutes after I had finished speaking to Redmond. When she demanded to see him, Hoodley said he had escaped."

"They probably just didn't want her to see him," said Cyril dismissively.

"That's what I thought at first - but we searched the whole castle and he was nowhere to be found. He seemed to have vanished into thin air."

Cyril blenched. "Vanished - did you say?"

"Vanished," I said.

He blinked several times in succession, then put his hand to his again arduously lined forehead. His pallor was incredible; his breathing became coarse.

"Are you alright?" I asked, anxiously.

"Fine," he said, taking his hand off his forehead and smiling forcibly, "fine. Maybe we really should start walking towards the village."

"Of course, if you wish," I said, surprised. There was something about him, I realised, that was veiled in mystery - something that defied scrutiny. "Redmond remains a conundrum. But there's another thing that I'd really like to know."

"What's that?"

"Who stole the Silver Butterfly, and why? Was it really Jimmy, do you think?"

We emerged from the forest into the timid morning sunlight, and Cyril gave me an authentic lopsided grin, shrugging his shoulders. The village centre was about two miles away, and I was beginning to feel hungry. The question hung in the air like a torn rag - but I decided to ignore it, for the time being at least. It would be months before I would ask it again.

_**End Part the First**_


	19. Detective Tarngold

_Part the Second_

**Chapter Nineteen: Detective Tarngold**

I took a deep breath. We had finally arrived at the Interkingdom Hotel; the tall white building towered before us, with orange and green stained glass windows and elegant golden fleur-de-lises along the sides. There were small emeralds set in the shining white plaster of its walls; its roof was a deep green that gleamed in the autumn sunlight. It was, without exception, the most beautiful building I had ever seen.

The carriage driver heaved Cyril's trunks out of the back of the carriage, and proceeded with difficulty towards the glass door. "Stumbled" would perhaps be the best description of the way he went. Thankfully, he was soon relieved of his load by the porter, who wore a smart pale green uniform and a matching aeruginous hat. "Morning, Mr Rose," he said, as he briskly ushered us into the foyer. "How long do you stay this time?"

I was almost overcome by the size and sheer brightness of the place we had entered. The glass ceiling was high, high above our heads, speckled with little green stars that it hurt to look at. The chandelier that was suspended from this miracle of a ceiling was, if possible, even more miraculous. It was a large, semi-symmetrical collection of weeping glass flowers, each with a tiny light inside it. Cyril smiled at me as he replied to the porter, "It really depends on my friend."

The porter here glanced at me. "He is not familiar. Have we had him as a guest here before?"

"No, this is his first time." Cyril wore a crisp white doublet, celadon leggings, and an emerald cloak and peacock-feathered hat; with a shy smile I thought how well he matched his lavish environment.

"Ah," said the porter condescendingly as he dropped the suitcases on the marble floor; we had arrived at reception. "Giselle will look after you from here on," he said; he bowed to us, smiling smugly, and left.

"Patronising snipe," I muttered. A girl with a pale face and long black hair stood on the other side of the desk.

"Morning Giselle," smiled Cyril.

"Morning Cyril," said Giselle; she blushed as she saw me. "You bring a friend?"

"Enrico Luigi Frescobaldi, Duke of Monte Agosto," said Cyril. I bowed with a flourish. "This is my friend Giselle Smithers." She would have been very beautiful, I thought, if her nose hadn't been quite so long.

"Do you want an extra pair of keys?" asked Giselle, as she wrote something on a piece of paper.

"That would be perfect," said Cyril.

"Lovely," I elaborated.

"Spectacular!" embellished Cyril.

"Incredible," I added.

"Unbelievable," cried Cyril.

"Extra-terrestrial!" I exclaimed.

"Please," she murmured, growing redder, "it's just a pair of keys."

"Oh, it will never be _just_ a pair of keys," said Cyril, laughing as she handed them to him. "Thanks Giselle."

"Your personal porter will take your suitcases up to your room."

"Magnificent," I grinned. Cyril shoved me in the ribs.

"Will we see you at lunch?" asked Giselle.

"Most probably," replied Cyril. "...Is Chef preparing something good?"

"Cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce."

"Cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce! We will be there for sure. Until then...come on Enrico," he said, pushing me gently. "I want to show you my apartment." We mounted the silver-encrusted marble staircase like two mountain goats. "That's the thing about the Interkingdom Hotel," he mused, as we scaled higher and higher. "Exercise is complementary."

"Which floor are we on?" I asked, wishing it to be the next one.

"The seventh," said Cyril, with an echo of the porter's smug smile. "Race you to the top!"

* * *

We finally stood before room 709. Cyril got out his keys, and, using the emerald-plated one, opened the door. "Welcome to Rose Suite."

The room we now entered was a luminescent mother-of-pearl white, with opal decorations. A smaller version of the foyer chandelier hung from the ceiling; the stained-glass windows were draped with pink gauze curtains.

"It's _beautiful_," I breathed.

"Isn't it," said Cyril.

"We don't have anything like this in Starcastle," I said, awed. "How do the little lights work? Surely they can't have candles inside them...?"

Cyril laughed. "No. It's electricity. You flick the switch..." - here he demonstrated - "...and they go off, on. Off, on. It's quite simple really."

"Electricity? How come we don't have that in Starcastle?"

"Well, I'm sure you have it in some form or another. _Most_ of Emereldom, though, uses Prince James' inventions...the lightbulb being one of them," he said, lightly. "The palace patents them all."

"I had no idea that Prince James was an inventor," I said, blinking.

"He is," said Cyril, with a flicker of cruelty in his smile. "They say he's a bit cuckoo. Great inventor...but a bit cuckoo. Spends most of the day in his workshop."

"I thought you said he was dying?"

Cyril shrugged again. "I don't know. I only know what they say."

"Strange," I said. Jimmy had always wanted to invent things. He used to show me his plans, sketches...

"Now let me show you through to the bedrooms...we have one each, of course," he added. "This...is the one I usually sleep in," he indicated a room with a large king-sized double bed with white draperies. "And - hold on." He made a sudden movement towards the bed. A silver envelope was on the right pillow. He tore it open, frowning.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing of consequence," he said. "But I won't be able to join you for lunch after all. This is rather urgent - I have to attend to it - as soon as I possibly can." He spoke in starts, and was a shade or two paler than he had been.

"I do hope everything's alright," I said, alarmed. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"No," said Cyril, "no, no, that would never do. No - I must go alone." He pocketed the envelope and its contents. "I'll be back by supper," he said gently; he handed me my keys, gave me a peck on the cheek, and hurried out of the apartment.

"_Very_ strange," I said to the empty hotel room. I paced over to the bed - a shred of the envelope, I saw, he had left behind. I picked it up. I could just make out the word "Mask" from the fragment. At this, I hurried out after him.

But I was too late; he was nowhere to be seen. Probably several flights down, I thought; and even if I did manage to catch up with him without breaking any bones, what could I say to convince him that his mission might be dangerous...? After all, I thought, the Masked Men weren't _that_ bad.

Just as I was about to go back to the apartment, I heard voices from the next room.

"You're not in a good way, Your Majesty," said a low voice.

"I knew it! I knew it! Oh, why didn't they listen to me before? I already told 'em yisterdee, I was a-feelin' unwell." It was my father's voice! I could barely believe my ears.

"And the conference was deferred," said a new, husky voice that I recognised as the prime minister's. "...For the fourth time."

"I am very sorry about this," puffed my father. "Very sorry...for the inconvenience...ah! But this rheumatism! These aches, and pains! Ne'er bin so bad!"

"I'm afraid the rheumatism is the least of it," said the low voice. "I'm sorry to say it, but you're in a bad way."

I opened my mouth in horror: what if he was really dying this time? Just then, somebody prodded me on the shoulder. I jumped. "I would not get into the habit of listening behind doors," said a voice. I turned around; for a moment I thought it was Redmond in a Louis XIV wig and some rather distasteful make-up - but I immediately dismissed the idea. "Don't you know that it is Point Two Hundred and Sixty-Four of court etiquette that a gentleman must Never Eavesdrop?" asked the courtier, raising his russet eyebrows to a tragicomic height as he enunciated the capitals with pompous emphasis. I shook my head. "Hmph!" he replied, elegantly swivelling a handkerchief in the air. "Young people these days!" He was an odd creature, I thought, with his indelicate stoop, silver-framed pince-nez and frilly satin suit.

Just then a hurricane sped by. Or it looked like a hurricane: on closer inspection, it was Peter Markovski running very fast. Once he had passed us by several feet, he skidded to a stop. "You wouldn't happen to be the Duke of Monte Agosto, would you?" he panted, addressing me.

"Yes," I said, in my deepest, most dignified voice, "I am."

"Oh!" He scurried back towards us. "I've got an urgent message for you." He handed me a scroll of parchment. "It's from Redmond," he added, puffing.

"A message from Redmond!" I exclaimed. "...Pardon me, er, monsieur," I said to the periwigged politician, "but I shall now retire to my apartment. Good day to you."

Before he could open his painted mouth, I had disappeared through the door of Cyril's apartment, tugging Peter with me.

"Where is he?" I whispered to Peter as I hurriedly broke the seal.

"Not far," replied Peter.

The message read:

_There was a prince of Starcastle_

_Who was a rogue of a rascal_

_He scared his poor sister_

_That rogue of a mister_

_And sent her a funny parcel._

"Parcel?" I asked. "What parcel?"

"He didn't give me anything," said Peter.

"Hmm." I paused. "Well Peter, you offer me no choice."

"What do you mean?" The boy cowered into a corner as I advanced, parchment in hand.

"The first time I ever see you, you're being harangued by the Masked Men; I save your skin, only to have you abandon me and Nelly in an accursed cave. Then the next time I see you, you break into the barn just as Hoodley is about to tell me something important about my brother. The next time again you're home sweet home with the Masked Men - yes _Peterkin_ - and now you say Redmond gave you no parcel. You're the most slippery, double-faced blackguard of a newspaper boy I've ever met. For that reason," I said, my lips curling to a smile, "I want you to be my friend."

"Blasted barracados!" spluttered Peter, as I left him lolling by the wall, "You're Elf!"

"That I am. What's a barracado?"

"I actually don't know. But it _sounds_ good."

I laughed. "It sounds most impressive. Something between a barracuda and an avocado."

"It means something like barricade," said a voice. The Louis XIV-style courtier stood in the doorway. "Spanish," he added, raising his eyebrows, "unless I'm much mistaken."

"Ah, Mr..." I trailed off, realising I did not know what his name was.

"Detective. Detective Tarngold."

"Mr Detective-Detective Tarngold." I pursed my lips. "_Might_ I remind you that Point Three Hundred and Seventy-Nine of court etiquette dictates that a gentleman must Never Invite Himself into Another's Apartment, Especially Not After Breaching Point Two Hundred and Sixty-Four?"

Peter giggled; Detective Tarngold appeared not to hear. "A parcel for you, sir."

I blinked. He held a large brown paper package in his right hand.

"Is this from...?"

"Redmond," he said, his eyes sparkling behind the pince-nez. "Go on - open it."


	20. Two Roses

**A/N: **_It's very short, and I'm not sure if you'll like it. It may warrant some editing/improving later...but at the moment I have to be glad for any spare minute I can afford to spend writing...I have many assessments and have just come out of a period of exams. All the same, please review if you feel so inclined! And thank you again to all my reviewers so far._

**Chapter Twenty: Two Roses**

There was a rustling noise as I rapidly disembowelled the parcel. Layer upon layer of paper - first ordinary brown paper, then more elaborate, stencilled parchment - was thrown aside as I dug into the parcel's heart. I finally reached a golden cloth. I tugged at it, and something black and white fell to the ground.

_The core of the parcel consisted of a magnificently_ _crinkled, creased and crumpled example of the habit of a nun._

I could not have been more shocked. A passing glance at Peter confirmed that he, too, was completely baffled. The detective, on the other hand, smiled - smugly - with the look of a little boy who was receiving a treat. "There's another note," said he, swooping gracefully to retrieve a rumpled piece of parchment from the pile of clothing. As he handed it to me, patronising down to his beauty spot, I decided he was the most odious creature alive.

I unfolded the note.

_Don't trust the man with the pince-nez._

Before I could say anything, the door to the apartment burst open, and Cyril Rose hurtled in. He froze on the spot at the sight of my strange company.

"You were very...swift," I said cautiously.

"I left my foil behind," replied Cyril, still staring at us fazedly. "Excuse me, but - am I dreaming, or is that boy on your right...by any chance...one by the name of...Peter?"

"Yes, he is," I said, surprised. "Do you know him?"

Cyril gave a queer laugh; he looked altogether as if he had been transported to another world. "Know him? He's my - "

"Servant," chipped in Peter. I gave him a questioning look, but he answered it only with an innocent smile.

"He's not my servant," murmured Cyril. "He's my - "

"Apprentice. I call myself his servant, but I'm really learning the trade of princess-catching from him. Very useful."

"Peter!" His voice almost a shout, Cyril's colour had risen. "You return from the grave, only to make fun of me? What kind of a brother are you?"

"_Brother_?" I exclaimed.

"May we demand an explanation?" asked Tarngold silkily. "This would interest me _very much_."

"And who might you be?" asked Cyril, somewhat brusquely - it seemed he had been shocked out of his usual politeness. I rarely saw him without a smile on his face: if anything, he was even more good-looking when he was in a bad mood. His olive eyes became tempestuous and his perfect porcelain skin gained a fiery glow, while his curls seemed to combat the air around them. He looked like the classical god Mars - so much so that I felt ready to swoon there and then.

"Ignatius Tarngold, right hand of the Prime Minister of Starcastle," replied Tarngold, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly as he gave an ornamental bow. "And you?"

"Cyril Rose."

"No! Not the son of Dr Rose, by any chance?"

"Yes," mumbled Cyril, the fire in his cheeks blazing. He was obviously pained by the allusion to the fact that he was a commoner.

"Dr Rose! Ah...excellent physician. He attends the Queen herself, does he not? Very good service, punctual..."

"I pray you sir, not to humiliate me in front of my friend. He is the Duke of Monte Agosto."

"I know," smiled Tarngold, with a sickeningly sweet dose of sycophancy. "He invited me here. But we are beating around the bush, gentlemen. I demand an explanation of this young scoundrel Peter. Peter..."

"Alright," said Peter, himself blushing a deep shade of beetroot. His watery grey eyes had expanded; I noticed his accent had vanished. "My name is not really Peter Markovski, but Peter Rose. I have never been to Kravarus, and neither have I met a servant girl that looks very much like El - Princess Esmerelda. I made that up, inspiration of two strange musketeers who mistook Esmerelda for some Lidia of Lettham. But I _was_ a foundling, and I _was_ found in a basket of daffodils."

"By my mother," said Cyril. "She adopted him when he was still a baby, making him my foster brother. We were, completely and entirely, like brothers of flesh. But three years ago, just as my parents were going to place him in Interkingdom College, he ran away. Ungrateful scamp!"

"I ran away just for that reason. Interkingdom College! I was - and am - an _artist_, how could I be suffocated by their indelicate, torturous, disciplinary curriculum? I ran away, and became an actor...in Starcastle."

"Which is, of course, where you met the Masked Men." Tarngold's eyebrows were high under his wig this time.

"What do you know about the Masked Men?" queried Cyril, suddenly interested.

"Rather a lot," said Tarngold briskly. "I make it my business to know everything about everyone."

"Then I suppose you know that they're planning a revolution - that they're rousing the lower classes - that they're planning to uproot the autocracy?"

"It would hardly surprise me," replied Tarngold, without so much as blinking, smiling that smug smile of his.

"And as to you, Peter...we thought you were dead."

"I imagine you were quite gratified," said Peter innocuously.

Cyril bit his lip for a moment; and then, suddenly, he rushed towards the younger boy and gave him a laughing hug. "Sorry, old chap, didn't mean it to sound that way. Of course I'm glad you're alive. Even though your death has been the subject of some legends..."

"Oh, really?" said Peter, eagerly. "Which legends?"

"Well...there's a legend, for example, of a boy with tousled brown hair disappearing forever into the mists of Ardendale Bog. And another of a boy of the same description being turned into a fairy spirit by a banshee. And several rather similar, all set in Ardendale Forest. We thought - Peter, what are you _doing_?"

The boy was, it seemed, doing a little pixie dance for joy. "Legends about _me_? Oh, how wonderful! How fantastic!"

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Peter froze almost in mid-air, and the rest of us eyed each other with unwarranted chariness.

"Come in," said Cyril loudly. The door opened, and outside - a figure, about my height, with a black coat, mask, and moustache. The colour faded from Cyril's cheeks; his eyes became hollow.

"Cyril Rose," said the man at the door in a voice that sent a shudder through my veins - not a shudder of horror, but a shudder of...beauty. There was an uncanny beauty about the masked intruder. "I arrest you in the name of truth, honour, and duty, if not in the name of the law."

"I am coming," said Cyril, in the voice of a trembling leaf. Like one hypnotised, he paced towards the door.

"Cyril, your foil!" I cried.

"No, Elf," he said, almost inaudibly, "I won't be needing it after all." He reached the door, and the masked man took him under his cloak. Cyril was smiling faintly. And then, the man silently closed the door behind them.


	21. The Watchmaker

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Watchmaker**

For what seemed like infinity the three of us remained frozen, as if paralysed by some unknown force. In my mind, I could see Cyril, loping towards Death under the cloak of the unknown man. I saw his olive green eyes fixed on me again, with that look of horror covering his face like a mask. With effort, I galvanised myself into action and sprinted towards the door.

I whirled around to face my companions. "Don't just _stand _there!" I exclaimed. "After them!"

We skidded out of the apartment, only to find a deserted corridor. I rushed towards the stairs, running down them as fast as I possibly could. The sound of hoarse breathing from behind me alerted me to the fact that Tarngold was tagging along as best he could. That little imp of a Peter Rose nimbly overtook me and sprinted ahead. We clambered out into the open air, into the blinding sunlight, and stopped abruptly. Nothing. Nobody. Not a masked man to be seen.

"Now what?" queried Peter.

"To be, or not to be," puffed Tarngold philosophically. He looked as if he was on the verge of collapse.

"There is certainly something rotten in the state of Emereldom," I replied. " - Peter, to the left, follow the main road and check any small alleys. Mr Detective, to the right, if you please...just follow the road."

"And you?" piped Peter.

"I shall go straight ahead."

"The marketplace? But Elf...that will be the hardest," said Peter. "It would be much too easy for them to avoid you in those crowds."

"That's Duke of Monte Agosto to you, Peter. No more talk now - we're wasting time. Forward, men!"

"Or sideways, as the case may be," said Tarngold with another sickening smirk.

I refrained from rolling my eyes, and charged at my proposed path like a bull at a red flag. "And remember," I called back at the other two, "we've got to find them!"

* * *

Contrary to what I had expected, the marketplace was completely empty. The tall white buildings that lined the street seemed to closet it; I felt uneasy walking there alone. I was just about to go back and follow in Peter's footsteps when a poster caught my eye.

"The Masked Men on Freedom: The Benefits of Democracy. Tomorrow at Seven o'Clock. Do not miss."

A strange sensation passed over me: I gazed at the poster as if it could give me some clue as to where Cyril had been taken. And, as if by magic, it spoke.

"They've taken him into the woods."

I started. That a poster should have such a familiar voice - a voice with a mellifluousness that reminded me of the sound of violoncello strings resonating - struck me as mighty strange.

"Do they really think he did it?"

This poster was certainly talented. Not only could it talk to itself, but it could speak in two different voices.

"They don't know. They want to question him," replied the original voice.

I realised that it wasn't the poster talking, but two people that must be somewhere out of sight. I tiptoed towards the sound.

It came from a narrow alley, away from the main marketplace, with a tree flanking the entrance to it. Hiding behind its accommodating gold-covered boughs, I surveyed the alley. A little way from where I was standing, there was a single stand covered in watches of every size and description. Behind this stand sat a young man of about seventeen with thick brown hair, pale skin and liquid brown eyes that gleamed in the sunlight.

My heart skipped a beat: it was Jimmy.

He was talking to a figure in a long black coat whose face I could not see; something told me it wasn't a customer. "Of course," said the other voice I had heard before. "Of course they can't know." A chill spread over me. It couldn't be...it just couldn't... "Anyhow, I had better head off home," continued the voice.

"Yes," agreed Jimmy. "You'd better. Here - I'll take your coat."

"Thank you," murmured the other, disrobing. A swirl of white and rose pink, and a dress flurried out of the coat. As the girl moved towards Jimmy, I glimpsed the face that was crowned by her fleecy brown hair.

Nelly's face.

A heavy clot of nausea - pain all over. I dug my fingernails into the tree bark.

She handed him the coat, and proceeded to give him a hug and a light kiss on the cheek.

"Take care," said Jimmy meaningfully.

"Don't worry," she said, equally meaningfully, slowly extricating herself from the embrace. "I will."

She smiled, and, picking up a basket full of vegetables next to the stand, left. To my horror she was coming my way, brisk and business-like.

I had no choice. I ran. I ran as far away as I possibly could in the opposite direction, tears streaming down my face, into my nose, down my neck, choking me, strangling me. I ran blindly, rage burning inside me, flames devouring my heart. At last I could run no further, and I stopped, gasping for breath.

I found myself at a clearing; the houses had grown more and more scarce, until now there was only one left. A stretch of greenest grass, and then the forest. Ardendale Forest.

I stared, unseeing, uncomprehending, unflinching. Jimmy had betrayed me. Jimmy was in love with Nelly. Nelly had betrayed my trust, Redmond's trust. - Nelly a princess? Never! She must have deceived Redmond...or there must have been something he wasn't telling me. Jimmy loved her. I could not believe it, would not believe it. And yet it was true. He loved her. They were a pair, they were plotting something together. Jimmy was in with the Masked Men, and Nelly was too. They were planning a revolution. They would uproot the royalty and replace our age-old families with papers and voting booths. He loved her. He loved her.

I never wanted to see him again.


	22. Auntie Elisha

**A/N:** Thank you all again for reviewing. While there may not be another update again for some time, I do hope you enjoy this one. This chapter is my personal favourite since No. 11. Well...see how you like it.

The story is slowly drawing to a close, so I hope that soon it will begin to deconfuse you.

But if it doesn't - never fear. All the major threads shall be tied up - at the end!

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Auntie Elisha**

I sat on a tree stump, sobbing. I realised now - now, only now! - that I loved Jimmy, had always loved Jimmy. I loved him with the passion of a summer storm. The rain slapped and pelted down within me, the thunder crashed and rumbled with the viciousness of timpani beating out the Dance of Death. How ironic! I, Princess Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, Daughter of the Throne, "in love" - how I had always laughed at the concept! - Not only was I in love, but in love with _Jimmy_! Jimmy, a commoner, a watchmaker, a peasant - a thief! Jimmy, one of the Masked Men...part of a group that must surely be the embodiment of evil. (My lenient dismissal of them had again given way, and I found myself labouring under a heavy weight of hatred for those sneering sneaks.) Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy...

Jimmy, the object of my pathetic affection, the rouser of my inner storm, was in love with Nelly. It was impossible! My friend Nelly? Nelly, so good, so honest...vile, scheming and false? A phrase from Shakespeare came to my mind - "Friendship is constant in all but the office and affairs of love." I had always laughed at it, laughed at poor Claudio's jealousy, frowned uncomprehendingly on Othello's passion-induced violence...

And now suddenly I understood. I understood everything I had ever read, ever heard about love. Countless quotations from plays I had seen or acted in with the old gang (oh, how I longed for those days of innocent pleasure!) unfolded themselves before my eyes. I felt I was on the verge of madness. My head was spinning from giddiness, my ears were ringing with unspoken words, my heart was overflowing with a feeling I could not have.

It was then that she came - an old hag with shaggy brows and small, piercing grey eyes that fixed themselves on me with the vehemence of an angry bird of prey. Her face was so deformed by wrinkles that it was hard to make out where her thin mouth started and where it finished. Her hunched back was covered by a knotty black shawl, and as she leaned on her carved wooden stick she made me think of an eagle on its perch. I recognised the woman Nelly and I had encountered outside the Black Cave in what seemed a lifetime ago. The remembrance of the misadventure that had occured last time I saw her brought a faint smile to my lips.

She surveyed me intently. I surveyed her with equal boldness. Eventually she reached behind her shawl, and produced an apple.

I stared at it. It was perfectly round, perfectly shiny, and perfectly red. She outstretched her clawed hand, offering it to me.

Dazed, I took it. A slight smile drew out her wrinkles further. She now mutely held up a piece of paper; I stretched out my neck, ostrich-fashion, to read its contents.

"Eat this apple and your heart's dearest desire will come true."

For a few moments I gazed at it blankly; and then, suddenly, I burst into laughter. Snow White! Perhaps Peter was right that most fairytales had their roots in Emereldom. "Your heart's dearest desire"...while something hurt very badly within me, I continued to laugh. The old bird looked at me slyly: "Eat it," her eyes seemed to say. I bounced up, bowed, thanked her profusely, pocketed the apple, and ran into the forest. After all, I had to find Cyril, and Cyril must be in the forest. Glancing back as I ran, I saw her shaking her stick at me and laughed even louder.

* * *

Eventually, the trees thinned, and I came to a stately, moss-covered little gate in a rickety white picket-fence. Behind it was a garden like none I had ever seen before, or any I have ever seen since. Despite the red, golden, and orange leaves that framed the garden from the outside, inside it roses, daffodils, nasturtiums, irises, pansies, and marigolds flourished; in one corner I spotted apples and oranges, while in another peaches and pears ripened. It was an explosion of colour and life that held me breathless for several minutes.

At the heart of this extraordinary garden was a quaint white cottage with pink eaves and green gables. It impressed me with its calm demeanour (if any house can be said to have demeanour, it would be this one), its sense of proportion...its _homeishness_. I felt, somehow, that I had finally found a place in the world where I belonged.

Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the gate, which swung forward without the slightest creak (unlike the doors of Starcastle Palace); I strode forward with as manly a stride as I could muster, and gave a sharp knock at the green door.

There was no answer. "Hello?" I called tentatively. And then I heard a muffled cry. "I'm here!" I followed the sound, and soon found an undersized barrel amid the pansies...a barrel with_ legs_. "Get me out! Please!"

I scuffled to the rescue; after a few sharp yanks, I had pulled the rest of the person out, and she sat there, on the ground, staring up at me. She wore a long, olive green dress that was ever so slightly tatty, moth-eaten and soil-covered; a pair of small silver spectacles crookedly adorned her nose, and her dishevelled grey hair was full of leaves.

As I helped her up, she smothered me in thanks. "If it hadn't been for you, young man, I would've been stuck there o' se'en night! I was just trying to clean the inside of the barrel and I got stuck..."

I grunted modestly. "It was nothing."

"And what would your name be? By my troth, but you are a handsome fellow."

"Enrico Luigi Frescobaldi," I muttered sonorously.

"Enrico Luigi...are you Italian?"

She took my copious gestures indicating insecurity for an assent and sighed a happy sigh. "My husband is Italian. Italian-born, that is, his father was English. He has something of an olive complexion. You have a shade of an olive complexion yourself...very becoming. Not a bit like these fine porcelain Emereldomians. My son is after me, unfortunately. White as a pasting board." She chuckled. "Do come in. I have strawberry tarts freshly baked. Unfortunately they will no longer be warm..." She was so kind, and jolly, and unpretentious that I could for a moment forget my heartache and inner turmoil and be at peace. We ate the strawberry tarts together by the window for a while (they were so delicious there were soon hardly any left), her entertaining me mostly with stories of her husband, who was currently in Mindia; and then she excused herself and went out to finish the weeding before dusk. She had not seen or heard any masked persons in the forest, but she assured me that if they were to come, they would doubtless stop by her cottage.

At length, I learned that she was the very Auntie Elisha whom the musketeers had spoken of the day I had met Nelly. "Everybody calls me Auntie Elisha, whether they're related to me or not," she explained, smiling whimsically. "I try to think of us as all being interconnected, intertwined and equal." Her green eyes fixed themselves on mine meaningfully as she said the words.

When I told her I had come from Emeraud she shook her head sadly. "The situation there is terrible. The poor are getting poorer and the rich are getting richer; the injustice is becoming too hard to bear, and many are leaving, hoping to find a better life elsewhere." I mentioned the poster I had seen, and she seemed interested. "There is rising belief that a revolution would solve everything; unfortunately, though, I think it wouldn't solve anything. Revolutions tend to be violent, and violence only breeds violence. It would only deepen the catastrophe. Besides...it is not the royal family that is at fault. When King Jerod was alive, he ruled justly and kindly, as a great monarch should. But ever since he died three years ago, the Prime Minister and his corrupted government have formed a sort of dictatorship. By law, the Queen is powerless until Prince James comes of age." I opened my mouth in horror.

"But let us not talk of it any more," she said. "It does nothing to speculate about the future. Besides, it is surely not so very black as it might seem." Hope flickered in those large, green eyes of hers, behind the crooked glasses. "There have been three break-ins to the palace treasury in the past fortnight, and people say a group of valiant young men have been distributing large amounts of money among the poorest. I do my best, too, in my own little way - I give out fruit and vegetables to the needy every market day, and visit the houses of the sick and weak with my herbal remedies. The intelligentsia of Emeraud apparently meet up once a week in secret to discuss possible ways of dethroning the Prime Minister. We can hope for a peaceful overthrow of the government yet."

I was mesmerised by what she had said, and found myself wondering about what Prince James must be going through, and about the mysterious break-ins. I had the luxury of time to mull it all over: she offered to let me stay the night, and I gladly accepted.

Her son was away, she said, so I could sleep in his room. It was a pretty place, with a large French window peering out into the garden on one wall, and bookshelves lining the other three walls. Apart from the holes for the doors, there was only one small space in between the shelves, made to accommodate a full-length mirror. The son evidently enjoyed looking at himself. This I say with confidence: the second of the two doors led to a walk-in wardrobe with at least fifty different outfits inside it.

Before going to sleep I amused myself by browsing the bookshelves by candlelight. Whether or not the son was foppish, he was certainly well-read. There was a whole shelf dedicated to Shakespeare; then there were the Greek and Roman classics, which I had never warmed to, and many contemporary works. In a glance I saw _The Count of Monte Cristo_, _The Aeneid_, and _Inferno_; Dante and Homer nestled together peacefully, and I spotted some philosophical texts alongside the works of fiction. Pouncing on the idea of becoming a philosopher by the morn, I snuggled up in the quilted bed with Kant in my hands. Needless to say, I did not touch any of the numerous volumes of poetry.

* * *

I woke up the next day to find that the heavy book on Kant I had been reading had disappeared. I searched the room for it, carefully poring over the bookshelves lest I had absent-mindedly returned it to its place, but of no avail. Eventually I stood by the bed scratching my head, and there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called.

The door swung open as if by magic, and Auntie Elisha stood in the doorway.

"Good morning," she said, beaming like a miniature sun. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well," I assured her, a guilty half-smile playing on my lips. Should I tell her I had lost one of her books?

"Here," she said, "let me fix your bed. Breakfast is on the table."

And yet I paused. She gave the quilt a few thumping shakes that sent feathers flying all over the room; and then she proceeded to plump up the pillows. I was just opening my mouth to utter my confession when she gave a cry of surprise.

"Kant!" Having stripped the bed of pillows, she had discovered the book.

I blushed and began to mumble something unintelligible, while she laughed good-heartedly. "_You_ must have had an edifying night! Just imagine...what an innovative way to study! Put a book under your pillow, and its contents will transfer into your brain as you sleep!"

"Yes," I said, pursing my lips a trifle pompously. "I suppose it _is_ innovative." And then I let my own streamlet of laughter join her river of pearled cacchinations; she finished the bed, and we proceeded to the dining room, as merry as the day is long.

After all, I thought, she was such a dear old thing. A trifle dotty, perhaps...but infinitely, wondrously kind.


	23. The Yellow Ram Once More

**A/N: **_Sorry if it's confusing. All will eventually be explained. Daring2Dream, the whole story is told by Elf, though at this stage she is still disguised as a boy. As to the revolution, see below._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Yellow Ram Once More**

The Yellow Ram was just as crowded as I remembered it, and jangled with the sound of voices. The smell of food wafted up to me like incense. I had searched for Cyril in the Forest of Ardendale for half a day and was feeling extremely hungry. Although I had been tempted to eat the apple the old hag had given me, I had decided it probably wasn't worth the risk. Besides...Auntie Elisha had asked me to order some fertiliser for her from Whitehead, who prided himself on his twenty chickens. She had kindly supplied me with some extra money for my journey. All of this seemed a very good reason for ordering a good, sturdy meal.

I surveyed the scene before me. Sitting around the largest table was a group of young men: some were in peasant's clothes, others in the latest fashions. Never had I seen such a medley of social statuses as I saw then, sitting around that table. They were a fairly noisy lot, most of them laughing uproariously and chinking their crystal wine glasses together. But some of them did not contain wine, but apple juice; and amidst the warring elements of the general cacophony, I heard younger voices, some still cracking. As I drew closer to them, I realised with an inner lurch that it was the gang - our gang. And at the head of the table sat none other than Jimmy Meralds.

"Can I help ye, fair gentleman?" came a familiar voice from behind me. Turning around, I saw Whitehead, sweaty-cheeked and red-nosed, smiling obsequiously. My hunter's apparel had obviously taken him in.

"Why yes," I said, in a distinguished voice. "Could you give me a seat at that table?" I pointed to where the gang sat.

"Of course," beamed Whitehead. "Suit yerself, suit yerself...come, please...Mr...Mr..."

"Count of Monte Agosto," I said, in a cool, distant contralto.

The colour in Whitehead's nose drained away. "C-count of M-monte Agosto!" he stuttered. "Oh, _your highness_!" He made an unsteady bow, causing the dishes he had been holding to slip, slither and slide to the ground in a delightful crash.

Several heads turned: Jimmy's was one of them. For a brief, dazzling moment our gazes locked; and then, recovering myself, I turned away haughtily, towards the unfortunate innkeeper.

Whitehead was on the floor, gathering the pieces of broken porcelain. He did not, however, seem to be taking his loss very seriously: he seemed to think it an honour to kneel down so near to my fair buckled boots, and I was rather worried he might take to kissing them if he got any closer.

"I will...seat myself," I said hurriedly, leaving him.

"Yes, your highness, yes of course, your honour!" exclaimed Whitehead, gurgling in the manner of a baby.

I settled for an empty seat between Tom and Daniel, and politely asked them if they didn't mind if I took it.

"Go ahead!" exclaimed Tom jovially. I noticed his voice was now breaking; he looked older, and handsomer, than he had those many months ago when I had last seen him. He would be fifteen soon, I realised; and yet there was still something irrepressible about him, a certain happy-go-lucky boyishness that he had maintained since he had been five.

"Make yourself at home." Daniel smiled with a certain hint of camaraderie. "The food here is _excellent_; old Mrs Whitehead is a cook straight from heaven."

"Though she doesn't exactly _look_ like an angel," said Tom, chewing philosophically.

"Tom," scolded Daniel, who was three years older, "don't make personal remarks."

"Sorry, _sir_," grinned Tom.

"Tom is in the unfortunate habit of gossiping," explained Daniel, turning to me. "I have to remind him not to whenever necessary."

"Daniel is in the unfortunate habit of acting like a schoolmaster," said Tom blithely, "and I have to remind him sometimes that, in reality, he isn't one."

"Tom!" Daniel raised himself indignantly. Tom dodged the Medusa-like look in Daniel's eyes, and went back to eating his mashed potatoes with gusto.

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Redmond from across the table. "Calm down, you two. No fighting at the table."

My brother had also aged since the spring, although it did him credit. There was a manliness about him that I had never seen before. Although he smiled, he looked tired and careworn; he had obviously neglected shaving, for fine auburn whiskers grew on his chin.

I saw him looking at me. "Who is our guest?" he asked slowly.

"The Mount of Conte Agosto," said Tom through a full mouth.

"_Count of Monte Agosto_," corrected Daniel, through gritted teeth.

"Ah," said Redmond, not taking his eyes off me. I felt myself blushing. Was he going to expose my disguise?

Eventually, he took a swig of his wine, and smiled."Pleased to make your acquaintance, Count."

* * *

Redmond explained that they were working undercover to solve problems of state, and invited me to join them. Somewhat dubiously, I accepted the offer, and agreed to meet them in the barn after dinner to discuss ways to solve the civil unrest that was apparently permeating both Starcastle and Emereldom.

After lunch I retreated to the room allocated to me by Whitehead, having successfully placed Auntie Elisha's order for fertiliser. I decided to take a nap, as I was strangely exhausted. When I woke up, it was already dark; for a moment I panicked that I had missed the meeting, and then I noticed a slip of paper under my door.

_Count, we have been forced to leave the inn to avoid suspicion. By the time you read this, we will be far away. One word of caution: avoid Starcastle City and Emeraud. Riots have just broken out in both places, and it is believed that both kingdoms will fall and be turned into democratic states._

_Please believe me to be yours truly,_

_Redmond (the man with red hair you spoke to during lunchtime)_

I punched the piece of paper and let it fall to the ground. That sly fox, that fiend, that carbuncled rascal! He knew who I was, and he was taunting me. There was something fishy about the whole business. Shaking my head, I opened the door and left my room.

The corridor was dimly lit by candles and a wash of moonlight. I could hear voices, music and merriment from downstairs; the other guests must have already started dinner. I hastened my step. So busy was I, analysing my brother's duplicity, that I didn't notice a tallish figure standing in front of me, and collided right into it.

It was Jimmy.

"Oh - sorry!" I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks glow dangerously as I stepped back. "I - I didn't see you there."

"No matter," he said quietly. "The Count of Monte Agosto, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right," I conceded. I wondered what he could be doing at the inn now that the others had left.

"I was just soaking in the moonlight," he explained.

"Ah."

There was an awkward silence. I noticed that direct, potent stare burning in his eyes; his mouth quivered slightly. Meanwhile, my heart galloped like a black stallion into the night, more than audible in the absolute stillness. The sounds from downstairs seemed to have evaporated; there was just him and I, standing in a corridor.

And then, suddenly, he made a move towards me, and kissed me on the mouth - kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed me, kissed me hungrily, kissed me until my lips stung from ecstasy, kissed me until I felt I might float into the star-specked heavens.

"Magpie."

A low voice cruelly tore us back down to earth. I jinked myself away from Jimmy, looking at the offender with tortured eyes. It was, from what I could tell, none other than Hoodley himself.

"Dinner is ready," he said, a small, mocking smile playing on his white lips. "I suggest you join us as soon as possible. Here," he threw Jimmy a disgruntled black bundle.

With one last look at me, Jimmy turned away, masked himself, and flung a hat and cloak on; from an angle I could see his upper lip was now adorned by a black moustache. He hurried down the stairs without a murmur.

For a moment Hoodley surveyed me with a bright, cool gaze that was utterly humiliating, and then he, too, proceeded to make his descent.


	24. The Golden Goblet

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Golden Goblet**

My heart still galloped inside me; I breathed quickly, making the air around me pulse and quiver. I could not believe what had just happened, what I had just seen. _Jimmy was Magpie_. Jimmy had disguised himself to become one of the two leaders of the Masked Men, both powerful and cruel. It didn't make sense. And did he know who I was?

The horrifying thought that he might not shocked me to such an extent that I suddenly forgot to breathe; the air was still and cold. Mounting pressure in my brain -

And then I took a deep gulp of air, and a flash of lightning blazed through. The strangest thing happened: _I laughed_. I remembered the masked man who had asked me about my relationship with Cyril and who had held the burning light of a candle up to my face, up to Prince James' emerald ring, in Thorny Castle. His voice was silky, full of distilled midnight music. I remembered the masked man in the musketeer costume who had given me that ring in the first place, back in Starcastle. His voice was mellifluous, soft and melancholy. I remembered the man in the shadows who had helped me escape the palace. His voice was rich and beautiful. And then I remembered Jimmy's voice, just now, with its quiet radiance. In that single fleeting moment I realised..._it was the same voice_.

Images now hurtled through my brain, dazzling me. I saw Nelly and Jimmy once more, and realised that the hug and the kiss on the cheek had been a show of affection between siblings. I realised that my hunch about Nelly had been true, she really was Princess Nell - but she was Jimmy's sister too. Jimmy _had_ kept his promise on my sixteenth birthday, _had_ met me by the weeping willow: for he and Prince James were one and the same.

And then with a frown I remembered Nelly and Hoodley, remembered Hoodley's claim that he had gone to school with Jimmy, that they had always wanted to create a society like the Masked Men. I remembered Redmond's voice behind the door talking to Nelly that night at the Yellow Ram, then Hoodley opening the door revealing Nelly to be the only other person in the room...I remembered how at Thorny Castle Hoodley had went to tell Redmond he had a visitor, how I had not been permitted to see Redmond, how Redmond had mysteriously and conveniently disappeared when Princess Tara came looking for him.

Another flash, and suddenly it all made sense. _Redmond was Hoodley_.

Redmond was Hoodley, and Jimmy was Magpie - both princes of thieves. Could it then be possible that...

The gang. The other Masked Men with their feigned baritones, with their equally unreal moustaches and jet black wigs, were my old friends that had frolicked with me in the woods since I was five.

I could not believe it. It overwhelmed me entirely. Auntie Elisha had told me about the gallant young men stealing from the palace treasury in Emeraud - Jimmy's palace treasury - and giving to the poor. I realised that Jimmy, not being yet of age, was powerless to change the situation in any other way. In my own kingdom, my father served as a puppet to a heartless prime minister - who knew what terror had been inflicted on the inhabitants of Starcastle, beyond the palace walls?

Hence the Masked Men, and hence the revolution. I was at once scared and excited: were Jimmy and Redmond really ready to give up their thrones to overthrow corrupt governments and restore justice to the kingdoms? Whatever the case, the gang had certainly not left the Yellow Ram, as Redmond had claimed. They were, doubtless, all downstairs, eating their dinner and making jokes behind their masks. I began to feel angry: how could they have never told me? Why did they never take me into their confidence? I would be revenged, that was for sure.

It seemed to me that the ground had shifted under my feet, that I was standing on air and nothing more. But as I quietly made my way down the stairs, I was sure of one thing: Jimmy loved me, and always had.

* * *

"I'm sorry," said Whitehead, "but the Masked Men are gone."

"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?"

"I mean what I say, kind monsieur." He looked around cautiously, then leant in towards me in a secretive manner. "_They were arrested_."

"Arrested?" I exclaimed.

"_Shhh!_" Whitehead purpled slightly. "It ain't too good for business, see. I'm tellin' yeh this out o' respect, fer 'tis only but too confidential-like."

"Yes, yes, I understand. Now tell me what happened!" I said, slightly impatient.

"Yeh know what the Gypsies say about crossing palms with silver?"

"What? Oh." I gave him a gold coin.

"Thank ye." Whitehead regained his usual ruddy colour. "Three troops of Blue Musketeers - from Starcastle, yeh know - and two troops of green ones - Emereldomians - came here - "

"I'm surprised they fit!"

"Well they did, Sir Count, mark my words, though it was quite tight."

"Well?"

"They came in here and arrested the Masked Men in the name of the law."

"On what grounds?"

"Why, theft, o' course. Oh, and murder as well."

"Murder?!"

"Why yes. The King of Starcastle is currently staying in our Interkingdom Hotel. Well, the physician says he has been poisoned."

"The King of Starcastle - poisoned?" I felt myself sinking. With a thud in my stomach I remembered overhearing the conversation between my father and the doctor back in Emeraud. "And - and they believe it was the Masked Men? I - "

"Well he ain't dead yet, but they believe he will be soon. All a plot to seize the throne of Starcastle, see."

"I do see!" I exclaimed hotly. Idiots! How dare they arrest my brother and my friends? Our prime minister was the guilty party, for sure!

"That ain't the least of it, either. Under point of rifle the Masked Men were forced to unmask themselves."

"And?"

Whitehead leant in even closer. "_They are all princes._"

"Princes? All of them?" I said blankly.

"Yes. Prince Thomas of Arcadia, Prince Percival of Eldoria, Prince Anthony of Lamingdon, Prince Daniel of Diadom, Prince Redmond of Starcastle, and our own Prince James."

"_Holy smokes_," I muttered. "_Interkingdom College indeed_. - And they arrested all of them? Even though they are of royal birth?"

"Even so, Sir Count, even so. They will be tried for treason. Quite a scandal. Which is why I want you to swear never to tell anyone that it occured at this inn."

"Why not? Surely all the other guests must have seen...?"

"They did not. I evacuated them all!" Whitehead grinned, displaying a motley collection of teeth that were varying shades of yellow.

"Oh." No wonder the troops could squeeze in.

"Just think of the negative publicity!"

"I would think _any_ publicity is good publicity," I said smoothly, raising my eyebrows and winking at him. I threw him another coin, and proceeded to exit.

"Wait!" Whitehead hobbled after me. "You can't leave on an empty stomach! And dinner is _magnifique_tonight, Il Conte!"

I paused. "Maybe just a drink of water."

Whitehead bowed, and hurried off to the kitchen. In a moment he returned with a golden goblet.

I peered in. "But this is wine, not water!"

"On the house, sir, on the house!"

Although I did not like wine, I could not bear to hurt his feelings, so I decided to humour him and took a sip. It was strangely delicious, like wooded nectar on a scarlet evening. That is the last I can remember.

* * *

From the fuzzy dark blur, I could distinguish a high-pitched, piping voice I had heard somewhere before...but where? "It's really time you woke up," it grumbled. "You've been asleep for ages."

With something of an effort, I forced my heavy eyelids to flutter open.

Peter Rose loomed up on me from above.

"That's more like it," he said, his expression brightening. "Thank heavens! I was really getting worried that you wouldn't wake up in time."

"In time for what? Peter, I don't understand you! And - what am I doing _here_?" I was in Auntie Elisha's cottage once more, in the same bed I slept in the last time I had been there, and with the same quilt laid over me.

"How much do you remember?" asked Peter curiously.

"Nothing - that is, I was just leaving the Yellow Ram Inn - the Masked Men had been arrested - "

"Ah yes," said Peter knowingly.

"They'll be alright won't they?" I pleaded. "They have to be alright! They're of royal blood, the court can't make their sentence _too_ harsh, surely...house arrest, perhaps..."

"I'm afraid it was a matter of Interkingdom Court, Elf," said Peter softly.

"'Was'? What do you mean, 'was'?"

"The trial was five months ago, Elf," he explained, even more softly.

"Five months!"

"Yes. You've been in a deep coma for almost half a year."

"But that's ridiculous! Peter, if you think I'm going to believe - "

"It's true," he said, so gently, and with such gravity of tone that I couldn't help but believe him. "When Mother went to collect her fertiliser from Mr Whitehead, he explained what calamity had occured, that you had fainted and never come to, and that you had been 'hogging' his best bed for almost a week. So she took you back home with her and has been looking after you ever since, with her herbal remedies. Without her, who knows, you might have never woken up at all..."

"'Mother'?" I said blankly.

"Auntie Elisha, to you."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Your foster mother. Cyril's your foster brother." I started. "Cyril!"

"Don't worry, he's alright," said Peter. "It was a false alarm, and it wasn't really one of the Masked Men who came for him that day, but an impostor."

"An impostor? Peter, what - "

"But we'll get to that later. It is now important that we get you out of bed. Do you feel alright?"

"Fine," I said. I noticed he was staring at me. "Fine," I reiterated, slightly annoyed.

"I heard you," said Peter.

"But forget about me, what about the sentence? What happened?"

"Well, they were treated in different ways. Tom and Percy got a lenient sentence, as they were heard by the juvenile court. But Red, Jimmy, Tony and Daniel..."

"Tell me!"

"Tony and Daniel received a fine of one thousand ducats each, and were subjected to house arrest for a year, as they were deemed to only be accomplices."

"And Jimmy and Red?"

"Red was, I'm sorry to say, found guilty of attempted patricide." I groaned. "He got a choice: lifetime imprisonment, or death."

"Peter - he didn't - "

"He did," said Peter slowly. There was a silence; the wind rustled in the leaves outside.

"How _could_ he?" I whispered between dry lips, choking on my own words."We could have saved him - if only I had known - if only - "

"_Shh_, Elf, it's all over now," said Peter soothingly, sorrow in his face and voice. "He was in no pain."

"_How...?_"

"They drugged him. And then..."

"Then? Tell me, Peter, tell me!" My voice was a hoarse shriek.

"Burnt at the stake."

"_No_!" I screamed. I bolted out of bed, frenzied thoughts leaping through my mind. "Surely that method hasn't been used since the Middle Ages?"

"It hadn't - but strangely enough - he requested it."

"He _requested _it? Oh, Lord!" I tore at my hair, which I noticed even then was delightfully thick and coarse. "Who is responsible for this Peter, who?"

"Percival Archibald," said Peter, biting his lips. "Prime Minister and Regent of Starcastle, elected High Judge."

I could have spat, I was so furious. I ran around the room like one who was mad; I noticed a beast flashing past one of the windows, and mentally congratulated it on sharing my fury, that beautiful rage, that divine frenzy.

And then I stopped by the window, and it stopped too. Its face was overgrown with coarse black fur, its nose a shrivelled likeness of a dog's. It wore white pyjamas that were strangely incongruent with the black fur that covered its body. I opened my mouth to speak, and it mirrored me, displaying clean white fangs. Its green eyes alone looked human, and stared back at me sorrowfully, like a creature trapped, or a dog which had lost its master.

"Peter," I whispered, "come over here, and have a look. There's a creature out the window." Its mouth moved too; it was certainly one for mimicking, I thought.

Peter came, but he looked even more grim than he had when telling me of Redmond's death.

"Have you ever seen such a thing?" I mouthed, as he came up next to me. But when I looked at the window, there was a second Peter there, as well as the monster.

"Peter," I whispered hoarsely. I felt my eyes widening; in the window, its eyes widened too, until I could see the thread-like scarlet veins. "Peter...that's...that's not...is it?"

"I'm sorry, Elf," said Peter, his reflection's face expressing ineffable pity. "But it is. It is you."

"How did this happen?"

"The poison. As well as putting you to sleep, it rapidly changed your appearance, 'beastified' you."

"_Why didn't they just kill me as well_," I breathed.

"Because they didn't want anybody to recognise you."

"Recognise me?"

"Yes. You see Elf," said Peter hesitantly, "there are two of you."


	25. The Journey Home

**A/N: **_Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I hope this makes a few things clear...the rest will be explained in the last chapters._

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Journey Home**

Peter took a deep breath. "Once upon a time," he said, his voice chafingly ominous, "there was a spring day more beauteous than any other. On that day, in different households, two baby girls were born, as alike to one another as two blossoms. Their names were Princess Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, and Lidia Lilith Elisha Rose, also known as Lidia of Lettham. One was born in a palace, the other in a garden in the middle of a forest - that same garden you see out the window.

"Anyhow, these two girls grew up not knowing of each other's existence. Strangely, the one born in the palace turned out to be a tomboy and a despiser of convention, while the one born in the forest secretly pored over court etiquette and longed to belong to the upper class. Lidia and I were always quite close: although she was forever fantasizing about life in the palace, she was otherwise a very nice girl. She possessed a beautiful silver butterfly brooch which she loved to just look at, even though she was not permitted to pin it on until her sixteenth birthday. But when she was only eleven years old, she disappeared - and so did the jewel.

"We scoured the surrounding countryside for any sign of her, but without any results. My foster cousins, Gilbert and Jeremy, joined the Starcastle Musketeers specifically to find her...they even went on a diplomatic mission to Mindia. Perhaps you remember them - they mistook you for her that day we first met. Father also went off looking for her, several times, and Mother did some skilful detective work - but all our efforts led to nothing. We became resigned to the fact we would probably never see her again.

"Last spring, a few days before your birthday, I read a jewelry specialist's article about a silver butterfly brooch from the palace that was supposedly one of a kind, and I began to wonder. I asked Mother about it and, although she did not tell me the whole story, I gathered enough to piece together what I have just told you. Until that day I had never known of the similarity between you and Lidia. I further questioned your brother, Redmond, and Prince James. You see, I knew them from...well, I just knew them. They told me all about you, and Jimmy showed me a picture of you he had. All the same, when I finally met you, I was struck by the likeness you bore to Lidia. But I knew it was you and not her because, to be frank, Lidia never learnt how to ride a horse...and you were in the saddle when I first saw you.

"Two identical girls, two identical butterfly brooches. I realised there was something uncanny about the theft of your brooch, on the day you were, like Lidia, supposed to pin it on for the first time. I thought it strange that Prince James, of all people, could be disguised as a peasant and found with a stolen jewel in his pocket. Elf, I began to suspect foul play.

"But it was not until a few days ago that I realised how deep the currents ran. I went to Starcastle upon urgent summons from an undercover contact, and there I discovered that Princess Esmerelda had apparently been found in a little town - Dancy, I think - and was back in the palace. You see, with you effectively out of the way, there was nothing to stop Lidia from claiming her rights as the Daughter of the Throne. Her plan is, sadly, succeeding to the very last detail.

"...Which brings me to Jimmy's sentence. He was offered forgiveness, on one condition: he would have to marry Princess Esmerelda within half a year of the trial. Of course, Jimmy accepted - I mean, what could be dearer to his heart than marrying you? He is staying at Starcastle Palace now. That the current Princess Esmerelda is an impostor, he does not know. I have tried to tell him, but he won't believe me...in fact I was very nearly thrown into the palace dungeon for my audacity. Elf...I'm very sorry, but...the wedding is tomorrow."

* * *

"I don't believe you," I said flatly.

"It's true!" he said, indignantly.

"This is just another of your stories. You're making it up. Everything. And Redmond! You evil wretch, trying to make me believe he's dead!"

"But he is!" He raised his baby eyes towards me, so sincere, so innocent - but I knew he was acting - acting, as ever.

"He can't be," I said, shaking my head, drawing a deep breath. "If Redmond was really dead I would know it. I would feel it inside me. I don't feel anything. My heart beats on still."

"But - Elf - it was in the papers - I'll _show _you the papers - "

"Peter, I don't want to know, I don't want any more of your tricks!" I was beginning to get angry.

"Elf, do you _seriously_ believe I could lie to you on such a serious subject? Do you really think I would try to make you believe your brother was dead if he wasn't?"

"Alright," I said, "then you are simply mistaken. And I'm going to prove it!" I went up to the door and gave the handle a healthy pull, but it was locked. Desperate, I exited via the window.

"Elf, what are you _doing_?" trailed Peter's voice behind me.

"Peter, give me a horse, and that's an order."

"We don't _have_ a horse," he protested, leaping through the window after me.

"Then get me a donkey."

"We don't have a donkey either."

"What _do_ you have? Goats? Chickens?"

Peter paused. "We have a cheetah."

* * *

"Where did you get a cheeeeetah?" I called to Peter, who was seated behind me on the back of the said animal. The roaring wind almost drowned my voice out.

"My f-father brought it from M-mindiaaa," explained Peter's voice, fluctuating with every leap of the large cat.

"When did your f-f-father get baaack?"

"Ye-e-e-esterday!"

"O-oo-ooh!"

"Eee-e-e-elf?"

"Ye-e-e-ees?"

"Do you ha-a-a-ve any e-e-experience riding cheeeetahs?"

The question remained unanswered: at that moment, the animal balked, catapulting us into the air. One minute, I knew what it was to fly - and the next, what it was to fall.

A long, droning sound. The cheetah was purring. Its olive eyes surveyed us contentedly as it stood there, under a chestnut tree. And then it disappeared into the undergrowth.

* * *

"I don't think I like cheetahs as a mode of transport," said Peter, groaning as he heaved himself off the ground.

"Me neither," I said, brushing my fur of leaves. And then I stopped, realising something...

"Father will be furious," said Peter, groaning again. "It was a gift from the Maharaja..."

"Peter," I said, slowly.

"It'll probably kill off all the local wildlife...and my parents are conversationists..."

"Peter!"

"What?"

I crept up to him on all fours. My hands and feet resembled the clawed paws of a dog, and it was strangely easy to walk in the manner of one. "Get on my back," I said.

"What? Your back? But Elf..."

"I'm a beast, aren't I? Well, it might just come in handy..."

"I'm not sure about this, Elf," said Peter, hesitantly, as he mounted me like a horse.

"Well I am," I said firmly. "Hold on." With that, I took a triumphant leap over a root, and we bounded off towards Starcastle.

* * *

We arrived at the palace early the next morning. It was still dark: lights flickered in the servants' quarters, showing they were busy preparing for the wedding. The air was chilly; I could faintly distinguish the spring flowers growing in the palace gardens from where we stood.

"Well, here we are," I whispered. Peter did not respond; the sound of soft, regular breathing from on top of me told me the boy was asleep. Gently, I let him down off my back onto a cushion of moss. For myself, I could not sleep, perhaps due to my five-month long nap. I pawed my way around the palace walls, then returned to our hilltop to observe the sleeping palace. In the royal family's wing, only the light in my window shone: Lidia, it seemed, also could not sleep. Or perhaps, I thought with a shiver, Jimmy was in there with her.

Nightmarish images swept through my mind: Redmond burning at the stake, Jimmy in an intimate embrace with my look-alike, then Redmond again, silently screaming - a cheetah with a dead squirrel in its jaws. Cyril flirting with me in the Yellow Ram, surely part of the plot also. And then my own visage crept up on me, and I saw those sad green eyes, that coarse brown hair, that face of an animal again.

And then, eventually, the sun rose above the clouds, and its silvery rays threaded their way down to earth. It was the morning Lidia of Lettham was to be married to Prince James of Emereldom, in my place.


	26. The Wedding

**A/N: **_There is a cliffie. I apologise: it was inevitable. I have so much material I had to break it into two chapters, and I'm still working on the second one. That said, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_Viva Elf!_

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Wedding**

The sun was shining brightly; birds warbled on happily as though nothing at all was the matter.

"Where are we?" yawned Peter. I was again carrying him on my back: I hadn't had the heart to wake him.

"Open your eyes and have a look," I whispered. There were servants buzzing to and forth from the great gate of the cathedral; we were hiding behind an oversized gargoyle.

"It looks like some sort of religious place," said Peter, with an air of nonchalance.

"Good guess," I replied dryly. "This is where the wedding is going to be held."

"How do you know?"

"Dozens of servants streaming in and out, the only really suitable place in the palace grounds...a large banner congratulating the newly-weds...obviously, _none_ of this would appear to suggest it is the venue for the occasion." My sarcasm stung.

"Uha," said Peter, rubbing his eyes. "So how do we get in?"

"That is a subject upon which I have been meditating the last half-hour," I sighed. "We can't use the main door, I'd frighten people and lord knows what might happen - they'd probably have me caught by the gamekeeper." I smiled wryly. "No...we have to take the secret entrance that leads to the balcony."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Peter, who dismounted and began to do some elementary stretching. He looked like an indomitable rooster with his chest puffed out.

"There is a certain problem."

"Hmm?" Peter exhaled.

"I don't know where the secret entrance is."

"Ah," said Peter.

* * *

"Do you think we'll make it in time?" panted the boy, as we skulked around another corner. The sun was shining brightly: the sound of merry voices reached us like a bad omen.

"Of course we will!" I said, racing in front of him. I did not like to show it, but I was feeling pretty desperate. We had searched all around the cathedral for the secret entrance Redmond had always told me about: I was beginning to believe it did not exist. Just then, I noticed a rope hanging from the wisteria we had passed several times. I jerked to a halt; Peter tumbled up behind me. "Look!" I exclaimed.

"It's a rope!" said Peter, on whom my previous sarcasm seemed to have brushed off. "Fancy that! A rope! I've never seen one of _those_ before!"

I was too excited to be annoyed by his remarks. "_This_ must be the secret entrance! Do you understand? We've found it! We have to climb up the wisteria!"

"Do you think so?" asked Peter dubiously.

"I'm certain! Hurry, grab the rope and help me climb up. I'm sure they'll be starting soon."

Peter did not respond, but slumped down against the trunk of the tree. "I doubt that's it, Elf. I doubt it. Personally, I'm ready to faint of hunger."

I prodded him in the arm. "Peter! _Peter_! We've just _got_ to get up there! We've got to!"

"I'm dying, Elf," he said, making a pathetic wheezing sound.

"There'll be _lots _of food at the wedding! Peter, just one more stretch!"

Peter opened one eye, a lopsided grin on his face. "Will there be sausages?"

"There _will_ be sausages," I promised, wringing my hands - er, paws.

"Well," said Peter, springing up, "last one to the top is a squashed potato!" He darted towards the rope and began his ascent.

"You - you - you - " I stammered, furious.

"Don't thank me," said Peter, swinging through the branches, "I am a gentleman down to the very last bit!"

The sound of pixie laughter filled the air.

* * *

Once we had successfully made it to the balcony, a whole crowd of government officials flooded forth in our direction, forcing us to run down the steps to hide in a corner of the gallery. We had not been there for long when Peter gave a cry of surprise and deserted me. I remained huddled up by myself, while the cathedral filled up with people dressed in their best clothes.

The cathedral was a grand building, constructed by the famous Italian architect Giulio Paluzzi. Its ceiling was celebrated as the highest in three kingdoms, and the organ (tipped with gold leaf and made of a silver alloy) was the largest in Starcastle. The many pillars were decorated by beautiful statues of various descriptions. Everything had been polished to such an extent that it sparkled: indeed, the patterned marble floor looked dangerously slippery. People shuffled in, filling every pew, every seat; the lower classes even stood. Every word was magnified in the acoustic, until the noise was almost unbearable. And then a hush fell: the holy bishop, a kindly, white-haired man, ascended the pulpit.

The organist hit the keys: Pachelbel's Canon reverberated through the cathedral, and the bridal procession made an entrance. Schools of flower girls, a single gangly boy bearing the ring, and then finally...finally...my father, trailing a mink-fur cloak, arm in arm with the bride. I peered further: her dress was the purest of snow whites, a most regal, elegant affair. An embroidered veil covered her face.

Jimmy had, in the meantime, walked onto the pulpit from the side. He was so handsome in his silver doublet that it hurt to look at him: his chocolate brown hair was swept up in wind-ruffled waves in a way that made it look alive; and even from where I was, I could see his face had lost none of its charm, none of its angelic beauty.

The flower girls arranged themselves at the sides of the platform like a _corps de ballet_; the ring-bearer took his place by the bishop. My father smiled as he gently unhanded the bride: she now stood opposite Jimmy.

"Dearly beloved," began the bishop, "we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses," - here he indicated two men at the side - "to join Starcastle's Princess Esmerelda Etherella Eloise, Daughter of the Throne, to Emereldom's Prince James Jerold Jemereld, Son of the Moon..." My heart was beating so hard that I barely heard the rest of his oration: a terrible headache seared through my forehead.

"...Prince James Jerold Jemereld, Son of the Moon, do you take this woman to be your true and wedded wife; and do you solemnly promise before God and these witnesses to love, cherish, honour and protect her: to forsake all others for her sake; to cleave unto her, and her only, until death shall you part?"

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak: but just then, he was interrupted by a gunshot.

"Hands up!" bellowed a voice. Everyone looked up. A black figure was suspended from the organ by a rope; as he swung down onto the pulpit he knocked over the altar. The cathedral buzzed with shrieking ladies and fainting gentlemen; our Prime Minister turned a deadly shade of white, while the line of officials next to him demonstrated various colours of the rainbow. From where I stood I could now see that the cloaked figure wore a black mask and black felt hat, although there was no fake moustache. The hair I could see under the hat was a flaming red. I held my breath: a miracle was happening. The intruder brandished a revolver, which he pointed at Jimmy. "Say one word," he cried, "and I'll shoot!"

"How dare you?" exclaimed my voice from the bride's lips - with that same tone of fury that I knew as my own. "How dare you violate a sacred ceremony like this?" She tore her veil off: my own face. Lidia of Lettham looked as though she might spit fire.

The man cautiously approached the couple, his revolver still pointed at the groom. "Say another word, mademoiselle, and it will be your last," he warned.

"Is it really you?" breathed Prince James, his hands swaying in the air like branches in the wind. "Or am I seeing things, hearing things?"

"It is me," said the man, in that voice so achingly familiar, "and if you say 'I do', I will send you back where I came from!"

There was a general outcry from the crowd. "Silence!" roared the black mask. "If there is as much as a word from any of you, your beloved groom will die! Or is that what you want?" He circled Jimmy, a deadly glare in his eyes. "Forsaken by my friends, laughed over by my enemies, cried over by none but an overgrown hound - this is what it has come to! Death comes for you, James Jerold Jemereld, if you seek it like this! This wedding," he pronounced emphatically, "is _cursed_! Its only blessing is from Hell!"

"Sir, really!" exclaimed the disgruntled bishop.

"Silence!" barked the mask. And turning back to Jimmy, "Dare you enter such a bond?"

Prince James looked at his accuser with an air of wonder; eventually, he said, "You are mistaken, old friend. I did not come to this sacred place to be married to the person on my left."

A ripple of indignation went through the crowd. "Silence!" bellowed the mask. "Pray continue, James."

"I came to the place as a result of a trick," Jimmy pronounced. "I was promised that, if I entered this cathedral at this time on this day, I would be married to Princess Esmerelda Etherella Eloise. But the person on my left is _not_ Princess Esmerelda Etherella Eloise. I do not know who she is, but she is not Esmerelda. Therefore your efforts are quite wasted."

The intruder glanced at the crowd, but the cathedral was bound in an awestruck silence. I found Lidia's face with my eyes: she looked broken.

"I would rather marry...that beast, there, at the right of the hall," he said, pointing in my direction - I cowered further into the shadows. "That foul, black, shaggy monster is dearer to my heart than is the person on my left. Creature," he called, "please come up onto the pulpit." There was a low buzz of voices around me. Ignoring the sounds of disapproval, I ascended the stairs to the pulpit, and positioned myself on the other side of Jimmy (mind you, I was still in my pyjamas). The masked man lowered his revolver.

"My dear Angel of Death," declared Jimmy, addressing him, "seeing as the bishop seems to have fainted, I was wondering if you could do me the honour of marrying me to this beast - if she agrees, that is." I nodded mutely. "Good. Now please..."

"Do you, James Jerold Jemereld, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?"

Jimmy smiled at me steadily, eking out my strength; Lidia stood on the other side of him, statuesque, with a frozen look of horror on her face. "I do," said Jimmy.

"And do you, nameless being, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

I opened my mouth. I felt a thousand eyes pelting on my back; I couldn't make a sound. I saw Lidia flashing me a dangerous, heartbroken look. And then finally, the words came: "I do."

The unknown man smiled too. "Then it is my pleasure to declare you, in the sight of God, husband and wife. James, you may kiss the bride."

I blinked - Jimmy was leaning in towards me. I closed my eyes and was swathed in darkness: his mouth touched mine, his lips enveloped my lips. A miracle was happening - I knew it, I felt it cascading down my spine.

And then I heard it. The crowd uttered a simultaneous cry of amazement. I looked my hands - they were white, furless. There was a pile of black hair on the ground. I touched my face - smooth, human skin.

"Elf," whispered Jimmy caressingly.

I would have leant in to kiss him again, but when I saw a masked face behind him I stopped. "Angel of Death?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes, Princess?" he said.

"May you grant me a wedding wish?"

"Anything." He bowed, smiling.

"Take off your disguise."

"Very well then." In a single stroke he cast away his mask and hat; in another, his cloak was shed. A white-robed Redmond stood before us in all his radiance. The whole cathedral chimed with amazement. I rushed to hug him; Jimmy shook his hand.

_"Red_! They told us you had been burnt at the stake!" he exclaimed, once he had gotten his breath back.

"Well," replied my brother, smiling affably, "let's just say I have been reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes."

"Stop her! Stop her!" interrupted voices from the crowd. Lidia of Lettham had seized the moment of general confusion to make her escape. She threaded her way past the pews...and then...

"I'm sorry, Liddles, but I'm afraid you're under arrest!" exclaimed a familiar voice. I recognised Peter in the crowd; two Blue Musketeers had closed in on her.

"Well, Gilbert," said one of them, "we finally have her."

"Right you are, Jeremy," beamed the other, "right you are."

"Let me go!" shrieked Lidia.

"Witch! Witch!" came a new set of voices from the balconies above.

I stretched my neck to see: it was four men in black chasing an old hag. She dodged them, and climbed down onto the organ, thinking herself safe. But one of them took the rope Redmond had used and swooped down upon her like an eagle, and descended onto the pulpit carrying her in his arms. I recognised the woman who had given me the apple. Her thin lips were arranged into a snarl; her small eyes burned with malice.

"_Blimey_!" was all Redmond could say.

"That's right," said the man, unmasking himself. It was Daniel. "The Masked Men to the rescue, eh, old chap?"

"How did you escape your house arrest?" exclaimed Jimmy.

"Let's leave the fairy tales for later - first help me tie this one up," said Daniel, holding up the rope.

"Good idea," said Redmond.

"This is an outrage!" exclaimed a low growl of a voice that echoed above the general commotion. I looked up - Starcastle's Prime Minister had stood up from his seat on the balcony. "What is this impostor doing pretending to be Esmerelda?"

"She _is_ Esmerelda," said another voice: female, warmer, stronger. A hush instantly fell on the cathedral. Down the aisle strode none other than Auntie Elisha, in the same outfit she had worn when I had first met her.

"B-but, b-but you're..." the Prime Minister looked ready to faint.

"Yes!" she said, in a clear voice that echoed throughout the cathedral. "I am Elisha Elfreda Emmalise, eldest daughter of the late King Ottokar of Starcastle. I am she who was disowned and exiled for falling in love with and marrying a commoner - I am she whom it was death to speak of during my father's reign and indeed afterwards. But unknown to all, I kept in touch with my sister Emma, who married our present king and became queen in my place.

"Emma was deeply grieved by our father's actions. When my first child, a boy, was born, she came to me, and said she could take him with her and bring him up to be the next king of Starcastle. I refused: he was my only child. But when I gave birth to twin daughters two years later, she came again. She said I must allow her to take one of them and rear her as a princess. Eventually, I accepted, believing it to be the best thing for my daughter. Esmerelda was the one she took." She paused; the cathedral still reverberated with the ghost of her voice.

"Look Elf," whispered Jimmy, nodding at the balcony where Prime Minister Archibald sat. Three masked men were standing behind him, revolvers ready.

"I was the only one who ever knew my daughters apart," continued Elisha. "The one you see standing next to Prince James is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Esmerelda."

There was a silence. I could not believe what I had just heard: it was unreal, it was even more unreal than everything else was.

Besides me, Jimmy made a step forward. "I have long wanted to clear my name - that is, my pseudonym, Jimmy Meralds - of a certain misdeed I was accused of one year ago.

"It was early morning, the day after the masked ball. I was skulking around the gardens disguised as a peasant, hoping to catch a glimpse of Princess Esmerelda's balcony. It was then that I was violently arrested by two royal musketeers: equally violent was the verbal abuse which they hurled at me as they tugged my unwilling self to the palace dungeons. Through their swarthy language I managed to pick up that they would get a hundred ducats for my capture.

"I was surprised to see the Prime Minister come and visit me: he seemed agitated to have found out that, although the musketeers had found a thief, they had not found the jewel. He threatened to torture me if I did not reveal its whereabouts. I pleaded innocent, although for good reasons I did not reveal my own identity. He left in a huff, saying I would be removed to a torture chamber shortly.

"And then, two old ladies came to visit me. They had given the jailkeeper a bottle of rum, and he was sleeping like a baby. They let me out, bidding me run, though to this day I have not got a chance to thank them, not knowing who they were." For a fleeting moment, I fancied I saw a sly smile slink onto Redmond's lips. But I could easily have imagined it.

"From that day onward I have been determined to find the real perpetrator of the crime. The search was long and arduous, and for a long time seemed futile. But..." he paused. "We found the real thief in the end.

"When asked who entered Esmerelda's room on the night the jewel was stolen," he continued, "the guards who stood by the entrance answered that Esmerelda herself was the only person. The guards stationed below her balcony that night saw nobody. The person who stole the jewel, then, must have had the ability to make himself - or _herself_ - invisible."

He fixed his eyes on Lidia. "Only a twin could steal the jewel."


	27. Lidia's Story

**A/N:** _Sorry it took so long...life is extremely hectic at the moment. I'll write the last chapter as soon as is mortally possible._

_Hope you like it! It's a little sad, and it has a(nother) cliffie, so maybe some of you would prefer to wait until the last one is up to read it._

_And as ever, I love your reviews guys. Thanks for all your input._

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lidia's Story**

There was a silence: something trembled inside me.

"Yes," said Lidia, with a twisted smile. "Yes. It was me. I stole the jewel. It was too easy: I slipped up to Esmerelda's room, they thought I was her, let me in. I found the brooch, unlocked the case with my identical key...then locked it again. I returned everything exactly to the way it was." Her smile grew: her eyes glittered. "Yes, I stole it alright. The jewel the Prime Minister showed the king was a fake. A fake, like his whole career..." She uttered a crystalline laugh.

"Liar!" was PM Archibald's response to her accusation. But people were already whispering. "She's a minx, a self-confessed thief, a traitor, a harlot, and you listen to her!" He had regained his colour - in fact, he was _pink_.

"You confess you stole the jewel, Lidia Rose," said Jimmy, steadily. "But why?"

"It would have ruined my plan," she said, smirking. "There are two butterfly brooches, you see: our mother's wish was that we would first pin them on when we were sixteen. Some old family tradition," she shrugged. "Well, she made a mistake: she had them both inscribed, but mixed them up. So my jewel read 'Happy 16th birthday Esmerelda, from your mother, Elisha Rose'. The back of the brooch changes with heat, so you can only see the inscription when you pin it on. If Esmerelda had seen the inscription on hers, I'm sure she would have found out who she really was.

"Luckily, I pinned mine on when I was only twelve years of age. It was...quite an eye-opener. Though I had never seen Esmerelda before, and though my parents had never told me she existed, I did a bit of research. I found out she - _she_ - was a princess! All my life I had yearned to be a princess, and there she was, _my blood sister_, Daughter of the Throne! I had never been told of my mother's heritage, my mother's history - that if she hadn't married Daddy she would have been Queen of Starcastle! Oh, it wreaked havoc with me! And now, all those years later, _she_ a princess?" She darted her eyes around at the crowd like a mad creature. "I saw a portrait of her and realised we were twins. And yet, they had chosen _her_ to be princess! _Her_, not me! After only a few enquiries I found out how disrespectful her attitude towards her position was. Playing pranks on suitors. Bringing wild animals into the palace. Playing with peasant boys in the woods. I ask you! But...one day...a year ago...I met one of them. One of the peasant boys...'Jimmy'. At first I didn't understand why he was so incredibly nice to me." She bit her lip, which had begun to tremble, despite her attitude of defiance. But she stood tall and calm, like an old tree which is not shaken by strong winds.

"And then - and then, I realised - he thought I was _her_. She had everything! Of course, I thought he was only a peasant boy. But...despite that..." She gulped, hiding her face. Something flexed in Jimmy's jaw; and then he ran down the steps, into the crowd, to her. For a moment I thought I had lost him.

"Go on, Lidia," he said, so gently and calmly that a shiver ran up my spine. "We're listening."

She raised her face to him; the sadness twisted into hatred. "You and your wily ways!" she sobbed. "Do you remember the countless times we met at the Black Cave, how I used to 'help' you?"

"I thought you were Esmerelda," he said, bracingly, "I would never have accepted your help if I had known..."

"What 'help' is this?" I asked, in an unnaturally shrill voice.

"I believed," said Lidia, "that Jimmy was the peasant boy he pretended to be. _Knowing_ the hard life peasants lead and reading before the lines...I figured out he _must_ be in need of money. I barely had enough to support myself, let alone him. So I took to pickpocketing. Only the well-off, of course...I went by the name of Amanda Curraway, wore a blonde wig. I became notorious." A strange smile played on her lips. "Indeed, some would say I was the 'queen' of thieves."

"But I don't understand!" I cried. "How come, if Jimmy thought you and I were the same person, he never mentioned the Black Cave to _me_?"

"That was the beauty of it: we had a secret language. Twigs and stones arranged in a certain way, in the forest. We were never allowed to speak of it. And the Black Cave - everyone thinks it's haunted! It was an _impeccable_ meeting-place." She paused. "After a while, though, I tired of being the 'Esmerelda' in the cave and the disguised thief Amanda Curraway. I wanted to see the light again. Around that time I met the Prime Minister Archibald, who was dying to get rid of Redmond and the real Esmerelda - and most importantly the old king - so he could seize the throne. Well, I set him up with a pretty proposition: an absolutely free hand over Starcastle, and possible expansion to Emereldom, if he followed my instructions precisely.

"Which of course he did. Had the bribe not been enough, I gained some inside information about his past that gave me complete control over him. Unknown to all but a few people in the underground whose silence he had bought, he had started his career as a thief, a traitor, and a swindler. Not a pretty picture. Anyhow, he joined the army, and by committing acts of the most terrible kind, got himself promoted, to lieutenant, general, etc. until he had a title and a peerage. From then on, his career took a political turn. The misery he inflicted on the various little kingdoms he had influence on was, of course, nothing to what Starcastle has suffered under his guidance. What his career will be now that politics has been ruled out for him, I cannot say. A regicidal monomaniac, perhaps?"

"Liar! Liar!" shouted the Prime Minister, who was now a splotchy combination of red and green. "And you listen to her, you listen to her!"

"They will listen to me for a while yet, Percival, so calm down," she said, with a touch of waspishness to her voice. "But from now on, it's going to be about me. After all, I am the only one who is really to blame - the others were but my pawns, and I did with them as I liked."

"Others? Which others?" asked Redmond.

"Oh, there were several little people I involved. Mrs Whitehead - the old lady you are currently holding captive - was my chief accomplice. And the most clever one, too, might I add. The poisoning of Esmerelda was all her idea. In fact, I can think of several things that were all her idea. Having Redmond kidnapped; forging a notification of engagement from Prince James, forcing Esmerelda to run away (we knew she had no idea James was her friend Jimmy); setting a trap for the Masked Men and discovering who they really were...oh, I could spend all day. She was really very helpful."

"But what about Mr Whitehead?" I demanded. "Wasn't he involved, too?"

"No. He only gave you the poisoned drink prepared by Mrs Whitehead. He didn't make it, and certainly didn't know about it. This 'Count of Conte Agosto' you were impersonating definitely must have impressed him."

"_Monte_ Agosto," I muttered. "Anyway," I said, raising my voice, "what about Cyril? He was in it too, wasn't he?"

Lidia cocked her head. "'Pretty boy flirts with me, now I find out he's actually _my brother_ and he knew it, was he playing games, yes.' We _are_ clever, aren't we," she taunted. "Yes...Cyril was 'in it'. He was supposed to poison you...but he was too lazy. Too busy drinking and gambling." She grinned at my horrified expression. "Yes, Esmerelda, we _are _a lovely family. I ought to welcome you: after all, you are one of us. Anyhow, having failed his main task, at least Cyril brought you to the Interkingdom Hotel...after a month or so. But he got sidetracked there, as well, didn't even bother locking the door...careless. Admittedly, that Princess Tara of his _was_ in the next room, so he wanted to get to her as soon as possible..."

"Cyril? And _Princess Tara_? But - "

"It _was_ a secret. Tara was pretending to be enamoured on your brother - or should I say, your cousin - Redmond. Risky, you see, falling in love with a commoner - she was too smart to end up like my mother did. So Redmond was her official _paramour_. Cyril was only her lover: I offered him a solution to be more than that. And he accepted it."

I was rendered speechless."The poison weakening Father," said Redmond suddenly. "The physician was called Dr Rose, but your father has been in Mindia for months..."

"Oh yes, that was Cyril alright, impersonating Daddy. The fun we had making him up!...towards the end, though, he just dumped on some glasses and a wig...didn't even bother..." She drifted off. "_Dear_ brother Cyril. To be fair on his poor innocent self though, it was all my idea. As usual."

"And all of this - this planning and scheming - how, ultimately, would it end?" continued Redmond, voicing my own thought.

"I would marry James. With you and Esmerelda out of the way, and the poor old king bedridden due to the poison permanently lodged in his system, I would not only have Emereldom upon James' 18th birthday, but Starcastle as well. Two kingdoms! Double the parties, the dresses, the royal hunts, the society meetings. Percival Archibald would be my Prime Minister, with power and fortune to do whatever he liked - or that was what I promised him...and Cyril would get a small estate and a peerage, and Princess Tara's hand in marriage. We'd all live happily ever after."

I was completely taken aback. "So - you're saying - you're claiming that - you stole my brooch, kidnapped Redmond, poisoned me, nearly killed my father...my uncle, I mean... - for _parties and pretty dresses_?"

"No, Esmerelda," she said slowly, deliberately, fixing her eyes on me. "I did all that and more for one reason only: because I loved Jimmy Meralds. And I love him to this day. In fact...I will love him forever." She gazed clearly in Auntie Elisha's direction - for Auntie Elisha I will call her still. "Your lessons of goodness and morality were not lost on me, Mother, as you might expect. Had my life led a different course, I might have been a good person. But alas, nothing is black and white, like it was in the fairytales you told us. No...'there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so'. I live by that quote, and it has served me well against my bouts of conscience. After all, my conscience would only serve a purpose in another sort of life - it was useless in the one I found myself in. It is Fate."

"And don't you think that you decided your fate yourself?" said Peter, in the manliest - and angriest - voice I have heard from him so far. "By running away from home like that and breaking your mother's heart?"

"Ah no, Peter," replied Lidia, lips curling. "You are mistaken. I never _ran away_ from home. I was abducted by gypsies, into the distant land of Kravarus, where I learned everything about everything, and was able to plot my revenge." Peter looked completely stunned. Perhaps it was the realisation that one of his stories had bordered on the truth. Lidia, on the other hand, had lost her defiant manner; she now stood, face to the ground, swaying desolately between Gilbert and Jeremy.

"It drove me mad, love did," she said softly. "I would never have dreamt I could be like that. But an enormous anger against the whole world grew inside me - for I had been given the wrong fate, just like I had been given the wrong butterfly. And jealousy...jealousy against you, Esmerelda. Forgive me. Forgive me, all of you." She lifted her eyes, bright with tears, to Auntie Elisha. "I'm sorry, Mother," she murmured. "I'm sorry for everything." She paused; a reluctant smile returned to her lips, flickering with a manufactured bravery, as she turned back to me. "The game of life is now over: you have won, and I have lost. Farewell." With that, she drew a free finger up to her face, and using her teeth unfastened the gemstone of a ring she was wearing. She put it up to her mouth: I glimpsed something white fall into her throat. Her eyes stared out into space, blinked several times. And then she fell backwards into the arms of her cousins.

There was silence, and then a quiet buzz. People clustered around her, blocking my line of vision. Auntie Elisha pushed her way through the crowd.

"Is she dead?" I whispered to Jimmy.

"It appears so," he said.

My insides writhed painfully. Even if, in life, she had been my enemy and caused me nothing but trouble, I felt unspeakably sorry. Shocked, too. Somehow, I expected her to rise again from behind the wall of people, wave to me and explain it was just a joke.

But she didn't.


	28. All is Resolved

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I've had yet another change of mind and will finish the story (again) myself. I realised it was a bit unfair to ask readers to write _someone else's_ fanfic. Therefore...here goes!**

**This is my favourite chapter of the whole book. Because it's the last.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: All is Resolved**

"Er...Your Highness?" The voice, emerging from the blur, was familiar...cockney, even. "Your Highness!" Repeated, and more insistent, it was like a dull nudge in the darkness.

I rolled over and groaned. "Your Highness!" prodded the voice.

"I'm not Your Highness any more..." I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "...There was a revolution, you see...The Masked Men..."

"_Esmerelda_!" And suddenly I remembered where I had heard that cockney accent before. It was Annette - Annette, our servant. She hadn't left us! How noble, how kind of her! I smiled, still not opening my eyes.

"Lovely of you, Annette..." I murmured, rolling over. "Really lovely..."

"Princess, if you do not wake up this instant," said the voice crossly, "I shall go and tell your stepmother."

I had a stepmother?

And this time with a real storminess: "LUNCH is getting COLD!"

I opened my eyes with a start. I was...it was incredible...no, it couldn't be. I was in _my own room_ in Starcastle Palace. Annette was dressed in uniform, bending over my bed with fumes coming out of her nostrils.

"What happened?" I wondered drowsily. "The last thing I remember, the Palace was going up in flames...Jimmy was rescuing me..."

"Hmph!" snorted Annette.

"There was a revolution," I repeated, "a revolution that came after poor Lidia's death."

"A revolution?" Annette crossed herself hastily. "My God, what a _wicked_ idea! And don't look at me like that, child, you've been having some far-fetched thing of a dream. You obviously had something to drink last night! Sleeping in like this..."

"What? What was last night? Honestly, Annette, I don't remember..."

"Last night was your sixteenth-birthday ball, of course!" said Annette, as it was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world.

I sprang up, hitting my head on the bedpost. "_My sixteenth birthday?!_"

"You really must have been engaged in underage drinking practices," said Annette, tut-tutting away.

"Not unless there was something in the pecan pie," I said, smiling dazedly. My sixteenth birthday ball! Last night! And all that...all that a dream!

"Alright," said Annette, clapping her hands, "_are_ you coming down to lunch, or _aren't_ you?"

"Yes Annette. Yes Annette, I'm coming," I said, clambering out of bed. I felt concussed, as if a whole castle had tumbled down onto my head.

She paused in the doorway, as if there were something on her mind. "Before I forget," she said, still frowning slightly, "one of your brooches was under the bed. Mariah found it. I put it in your jewelry box with the others." My jaw dropped. "Will that be all, Your Highness?" she said, with tired courtesy.

"Um...yes, Annette, you may go." I still stared at her rather disbelievingly. "No wait - Annette..."

"Yes, Princess?" Her face betrayed something like tired civility. But I was too happy to mind.

"The dream I had last night was a whole, wonderful year. And...it was the craziest, most enlightening one of my life."

She put on her best neutral expression. "Yes, Your Highness." And with an almost inaudible sigh, she shut the door, so I could change in privacy.

For a few moments I sat on the bed, staring out the window with a mind almost as blank as her face had been. And then I laughed. I laughed so loudly they must have heard me outside, and for so long that I was surprised I didn't have a seizure. "Oh, Your Majesties," I said, in my best imitation of cockney - startling some birds outside - "I have a feeling Princess Esmerelda has gone mad."

And, with tears in my eyes, I hobbled over to the wardrobe to choose a petticoat and a dress.

* * *

"My word!" said Redmond, when I appeared at the lunch table. Even Father looked shocked.

"Esmerelda me child..." he began, his small eyes becoming large. He never finished that sentence.

Stepmama, on the other hand, positively beamed at me. "You know, Esmerelda, for once you _actually_ look pretty!"

I smiled back sweetly. "Thank you," I said, gracefully sitting down beside my brother. "Ah, ciabatta with lemon d'anglaise, _c'est magnifique_!"

"Elf...what...what in the name of the Devil has happened to you?"

"An edifying night's sleep," I responded, my lips curling into a catty smile.

"The Deuce!"

"Redmond," said Stepmama tiredly, "don't swear at the luncheon table."

"Sorry. But it's unnatural. She used to be...well...she's just so..."

"Different?" Stepmama immediately began to imitate my smile. "Oh but Redmond, your sister has grown up! She is no longer a child. She is a young woman!"

"Young harlot," said Redmond through the corner of his mouth.

I could understand their shock: I was wearing makeup. And a wig. And a frilly pink dress. A strange silence reigned over the table. It was only after we had finished the main course that it was broken. "Eh-ehem." The Prime Minister was standing over the King. He was smiling. It was the sort of smile evil sorcerers wear in fairy-tales when they are sure of victory.

"Hmmm?" Father blinked like an owl in daylight. The Prime Minister passed him a roll of parchment. After unravelling it and turning it the right way round, the King of Starcastle proceeded to read aloud. "We are pleased to announce we have apprehended and caught the thief of the silver butterfly brooch belonging to Princess Esmerelda, which went missing last night."

"The thief, or the brooch?" I whispered to Redmond, grinning.

"_Shh_," said Redmond, sounding a trifle annoyed. It was obvious that he was paying close attention. And besides, with his impeccable grammar he must have known it was unquestionably the brooch, as the thief would have been a "who".

"Who was it?" said my brother.

"This thief goes by the name of Jimmy Meralds, and has been thrown into the palace dungeon. The trial will be at twelve o'clock on this day, and it is expected he will be..." - Father winced slightly - "hanged."

The Prime Minister's smile expanded. Redmond sank his forehead into his hands. Stepmama popped a cherry into her mouth.

"Very good, Your Majesty," said the Prime Minister, taking the parchment, bowing, and leaving us to finish our lunch.

"Yeh don't think there's any way we could...lighten the sentence...a little?" said Father, who sounded more than a little uncomfortable.

"I don't see how, Father," I said, nonchalantly, helping myself to dessert. "If it is proven that he really stole the brooch, there is no loophole, so to speak, except the noose."

Redmond stared at me as if I had turned into Medusa.

"Quite, quite," said Stepmama. "Justice is justice."

"Yes...I suppose..." said Father, not sounding convinced. "But surely...is it really such a bad thing, what he did? I mean, if it had been murder...one could almost understand...but..."

"Father!" I said, as if I was surprised at him. "How can you say such a thing? That brooch means an awful lot to me!"

"Yes...yes, child, I suppose you're right..." He squirmed a little over his blueberry pudding.

Redmond looked like a pent-up volcano. "Capital punishment is a monstrous thing!" he finally burst out. "It's a heinous crime in itself! I am surprised at you, Esmerelda, for your indifference!"

I put a spoonful of sugar in my coffee and stirred it, smiling affectedly. "Really, Redmond, first swearing, and now talking like a revolutionary! It is too much!"

"Exactly!" enthused Stepmama. "Much too much! I don't know what has gotten into you, Redmond. Your sister talks so wisely...I am inclined to think she has blossomed overnight!"

Redmond actually _glared_ at me.

I finished my dessert in silence. And then, as I got up from the table, I said: "By the bye, the brooch in question was found by one of the servants under my bed this morning. Ingenious place for Meralds to hide it, don't you think?"

Stepmama blinked, as though she did not fully comprehend. "You mean - "

"I mean nothing," I said. "And now, if you will all excuse me..."

With a swish of my dress I left the room. I was half-way down the corridor when I heard someone running behind me. I turned: it was Redmond. I kept on walking.

"Elf," said Redmond, a little breathless.

"My name is Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, young man," I said, as severely as I could. But I found it hard to maintain my straight face.

Redmond looked a little put off. "There's something...that is...I've been meaning to..."

"Apologise for your behaviour?"

"No," he replied, bluntly. "I've been meaning to tell you about the boys in the woods. And - especially - about Jimmy."

"What, that they're all princes passing for commoners, and that you were deceiving me all these years?"

Redmond's mouth hung open for a moment. "How - how on _earth_ do you - ?"

"I thought I said. I had a very educational dream last night." I smiled. "Maybe the gypsy magicked the pecan pie in some way."

"And Jimmy?"

"Prince James Jerold Jemereld of Emereldom."

"Blimey," he muttered.

"He proposed last night," I said.

"He did?" Redmond seemed blown over.

"And I rejected him."

"Oh."

There was a pause. "Au revoir, sir prince," I said, bustling forwards. But Redmond caught me by the arm.

"I'm _sorry_," he said desperately. "We're _all_ sorry."

"Sorry for what? For making a fool of me? For trusting me as much as you might trust Stepmama, or the Prime Minister, or reporters from the Interkingdom Herald? Really, I can't see what you're sorry about."

"We would have told you ages ago - things just didn't - _work out_."

"Well, Prince Redmond, in the future I hope you will _make _things 'work out'. You might consider me to be a human being with feelings for once! And while you're at it, you might realise that I'm intelligent enough to keep a secret!"

"But - "

"I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed in you all. And now goodbye." Impatiently, I yanked myself out of his clasp.

"Where are you going?" he called after me helplessly.

"That's none of your business!"

* * *

When I got to the dungeons, I asked the prison keeper for his keys – politely, but authoritatively. He made no protest. I asked where I would find a Jimmy Meralds, and he told me, "Cell No. 5, Your Highness."

The stairs down to the prison cells were slippery, and covered in moss and lichen. I tried not to flinch when I saw a family of rats going in the opposite direction. The place had an atmosphere of secret suppression that attracted me as much as it repelled me. Dank, dirty granite formed the passage-way and the various arches. There were many exits I could have taken, to the left and to the right, but the prison-keeper had told me No. 5 was right at the bottom. So down I went, not paying heed to the bats or the other, nefarious creatures that made their home in the underground. It was a place of eternal night, and I was grateful for the orange-flamed torch I had been given. It was a powerful antidote to darkness.

Finally I stood in front of the iron bars of the prison cell. Slumped against a wall inside was a young man who looked every bit as grimy as his surroundings. But, it must be said, much handsomer.

"_Psst_," I said. He looked up. I did not know how to read the expression in his eyes, whether it was hope or fear or surprise. In any case, that look sent a shiver down my spine.

"E-esmerelda," he stuttered. "Is it really you?" He had gotten up, was now clutching the bars in his browned hands. I did not answer, but deftly opened the cell door with the key marked "No. 5". What an organised system we have here, I thought: logical, most logical.

We stood face to face. I saw he was trembling slightly. "I'm awfully sorry about all this, Elf," he said, in a low voice, one suffused in melancholy music. "I'm sorry about your brooch, I didn't take it – I swear. The guards found me shuffling about the garden, and arrested me without the slightest shred of evidence. I'm sure Red will stand up for me in court, and the others too – I don't expect you to, of course, you are the offended party – and – and…"

It took me a great effort not to show how I was feeling, not to let the melting that was going on inside me take over my face…but he was not looking at me anyway. He had directed his eyes at the floor, at the straw-strewn, cobbled floor.

For a moment the only sound that penetrated the dusty air was the sound of our two hearts beating. And then I spoke. "Last night, you asked me a question. I was not prepared for this question, for a number of reasons; so I answered in the negative." By now he was gazing at me, earnestly, with those dark eyes of his – soulfully, loyally, like a dog that has stood by you your whole life. His slow smile was so beautiful it was almost excrutiating. "But now that I can – so to speak – see…the whole picture…" My voice wavered. And he saved me the trouble of continuing. He sealed my lips with a kiss. I cannot describe the feeling of that kiss; words fail me. But it was the most sublime moment I have ever experienced.

We left the cell door wide open. Several grey mice passed us on our way to light and liberty. We bounded up the mossy steps hand in hand. I returned the keys to the prison guard when we got to the top. Strangely enough, he did not offer a word of protest over my freeing of the inmate of No. 5. He stared at us with eyes as wide as saucers.

* * *

The preparations for the wedding took a whole month; and then, after all, his mother decided we mustn't get married until I was eighteen, so the gamekeeper and his daughters, and all the poorer folk in our two kingdoms, received a bounty of food and drink – not to mention a certain ten-storey chocolate cake divided up into tiny square pieces. I didn't mind. I was patient: it did not matter whether we were married or not, for every moment together was a miracle. As neither of us yearned after an engagement ball, our proposed union was instead announced in all the papers, accompanied by a large painting of us both by the renowned Master von Amsterdam. This was to become one of his most famous works, and it was moved to a permanent exhibition in the Emereldom National Art Gallery to much public and critical acclaim.

Only Stepmama did not like it. "Esmerelda…" she said when she saw it, squeezing her powder puff with a slightly sour expression, "I am not convinced this painting is really appropriate. No, I am not convinced at all."

"But Stepmama," I said, laughing, "surely _you_ cannot find fault with it! After all, I _am_ smiling."

"Mmm, well that is exactly my point." She twisted a piece of lace around her pinky finger. "The fault _I_ see with it is that you are both smiling rather too much. The painting loses its dignity. It becomes too picturesque, too carefree, too happily-ever-after. No, Esmerelda, I do not like it all."

And, much to Stepmama's disapproval, our lives have possessed all the qualities she ascribed to the painting ever since.


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The reader may be wondering about the fates of the other characters in this story. Indeed, I would be gravely amiss were I to be so caught up in my own felicity as to forget the happiness of others.

Redmond married Nelly a month - a little month - after my sixteenth birthday. They were the most beautiful bride and groom imaginable, she in her exquisite white lace dress, and he in a chocolate brown dress suit. Prince and Princess - it was like a wedding from a fairytale. The readings were all taken from Shakespeare, including Nelly's much-loved Sonnet 116. Starcastle Palace wore its most resplendent colours, and sweet and mellifluous music filled the air, as did the smells of the delicious food laid out for the wedding feast. It was the most talked-of event of the 18th century. The only thing that puzzled the guests was the monopoly pecan pie had over the other desserts.

Half a year later, Redmond and Nelly were crowned King and Queen of Starcastle. The Prime Minister was discarded and sent into exile ("But, my dear boy...don't be _too_ hard on him, will yeh?" pleaded Father of Redmond) with a few of his dastardly, loyal political friends. A new era began in Starcastle - one of great economic and social success, and one in which the lives of the poor were greatly changed. New farms were set up, new jobs created. The streets were filled with the cry: "Long live King Redmond!"

But what of the other characters of my dream? Were they merely shadows, creations of my imagination? I confess I did believe it. But, one day, when Jimmy and I were dining at a certain Inn in Thorny, I was surprised to see a familiar red-faced man with white hair scuffle forth to take our order. I was even more surprised when a foppish young man with curly fair hair entered the establishment. Trailing behind him was a little imp of a boy with a talent for accents and a propensity to tell tales. (He began as soon as they entered, some apocryphal anecdote about him having helped a princess who had run away from home.)

As to Auntie Elisha and her cottage in the forest, they did not exist. Neither did Lidia of Lettham, or the witch of the Black Cave. But the latter discovery deserves the retelling of the incident that led to it. One day I tugged Redmond off his throne and took him out riding into the forest, searching for the cave. The outing was extended overnight, much to the groanings and moanings of my brother, who professed the wish to "go home", as he so eloquently put it.

And lo and behold, in the morning I woke up to find no Redmond at my side. Irritated, I continued the search alone. Tripping over a root, I skidded down a slope to find myself in front of a hole in the ground. This was it, I thought. I'd found it. Although something gave way within me, I took a leap into the hole. I fell softly onto a slippery surface and slid down a tunnel. I stood before a boulder. "Sesame open," I said querulously. Nothing happened.

A cackle resounded behind me. I whirled around. "You!" I exclaimed. It was her. It was the witch. Even in the shadows I could make out her white hair as it cascaded around and over her face like a winter frost. A pointy black hat further shaded her face, and a tattered black cloak was wrapped around her body. She was smoking a carbuncled wooden pipe with lichen growing on it.

"Yes, me, the Witch of the Black Cave!" she croaked melodramatically.

Though butterflies were rushing through my stomach, I managed what I hoped was a sane smile. "But witches don't exist."

"Hmph! What am I, then, a puff of smoke?" she said, and as she chewed her pipe the smell of strange, mossy smoke filled the air.

"N-no," I said.

"Good. In that case, let's get down to business." She went up to the boulder and clapped her hands. "_Bildungsroman persnickety_!" she intoned. And, as if by magic, the boulder heaved away. "Pray come in," she said, in that cracked voice of hers. As I followed her, I wished Redmond hadn't skedaddled. He would have enjoyed this. And, of course, I would have felt much safer.

We entered the cave, and it looked almost exactly as it had in my dream. Sparkling stalactites and stalagmites rose by the light of a small fire. She sat down on the ground and proceeded to pick up a small book with crinkly brown pages and began muttering something indistinct. A rumbling noise made me jump: to my horror, I saw the boulder had rolled back into place.

"Mother," I said hesitantly, "...what...do you want from me?' I gulped. My throat was awfully dry. "Silver?"

She gave a heart-stopping cackle. "No," she said slowly. "I don't want money."

"Ah." I said. "I - I see."

With a last mumble she shut her book. "I'm not as young as I used to be. It ain't easy for me to go blundering around the forest hunting down berries etcetera. So I've given up vegetarianism."

"Oh?" I said. I noticed my voice was a high squeak. "You - you want me to - bring you better food?"

Another cackle. "No, my dear. These days the food comes to me. That hole serves to trap lots of innocent passers-by. Deer. Squirrels. And occasionally, a human."

"A-ha." Suddenly I felt very hot and uncomfortable. A sweat was rising on my brow.

"So, yeh see, _Princess Esmerelda_,with my sophist'cated engineering, I no longer need to go hunting for food." She paused, surveying me intently with her piercing black eyes. "I have my cauldron, and several other instruments of - cookery."

"Ah! You want me to cook for you!" I said, laughing. It was a very unnatural laugh.

"My dear, I ain't the witch of the Black Cave for nothing. I do magic. I needn't lift a finger."

"Oh."

She reached for a bronze cup, and scooped up a brothy substance from her cauldron, holding it out to me. "Here. Have some. I trust yeh're most hungry after yer journey." Fear sizzled through my body. It was poison. Poison. I was sure of it. She would drug me down and then have me for supper.

And then I noticed something. The hand holding the cup wasn't trembling, as it ought to have been. It wasn't gnarled and dirty and wizened as an old hag's should be. It was large, supple, with strong-looking fingers and clean fingernails.

Realisation began to take hold of me; a new firmness in the stomach. "Thank you," I said, gracefully taking it. I lifted it to my lips - and then - and then -

I threw its contents at her face. She gave a shout in quite a different voice, a sturdier, manlier voice. I lunged at her, knocking her to the ground.

"Stop it - stop it!" she crowed, for I was tickling her. And then I snapped the hat from her head, and the hair came with it. Underneath was different hair, hair that was as red as a sunset.

"I _thought _so!" I said triumphantly, standing up. A ridiculous, dishevelled version of my brother lay on the ground, laughing hysterically. "Now out with you!" I clapped my hands. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

And the gang emerged from behind the stalagmites, Tommy and Daniel pushed the boulder back and entered, grinning sheepishly.

"It was _his_ idea," said Tommy, pointing to Redmond.

"I believe it," I said, raising my eyebrows. They all began to laugh. "Oh, it's _very_ funny," I said sardonically. But I couldn't help smiling. "Now, you lot, you can prove your talents in another way."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." I cast a glance at Redmond. He really did look strange in his outfit. "Nelly has given the staff a few days off...and as a result, the palace is beginning to look _singularly _messy. What we need is the_ manly_ strength of some capable hands...to clean the windows, launder the clothes, dust the armour, mop the floors..."

"Oh no," groaned the fellows.

"Oh yes," I said, with a wicked smile. "And there's something else as well."

"Yes?"

"I want you to tell me something. Have you ever heard of the Masked Men?"

They shook their heads, murmured something in the negative.

"Ah. Alright." I said, eyes twinkling. "In that case, I am pleased to inform you that Nelly has given the staff a _month_ off!"

Louder groans. Just then - talk of the devil! - Nelly entered the cave, with Jimmy hard at her heels.

"Elf! We were so worried about you!" cried Nelly, rushing at me and hugging me tight. "But - where's Red? And who are all these people?"

I rubbed my nose gently and cleared my throat. "Well..."

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" said Jimmy, bemused.

"Nelly," I said gravely, putting my arm around her, "allow me to explain." I walked her slowly to the decrepit pile of black rags that was lying next to the fire. There wasn't much to be seen, only a shock of white hair, a cloak, and a black hat.

"This _thing_ here," I continued, "is...your husband."

"Red?!" exclaimed Nelly. "I - I don't understand!"

I seized him by the hand and pulled him up. There he stood, the wig half covering his face.

"Hello Nelly," he said meekly.

Nelly blinked. "I - I was so worried about you!" she said. "And all along - you've been - you've been..."

I don't think I'd ever seen Nelly so angry before, nor have I since. She began to rant about his royal duties, about the piles of paper waiting for his signature in the office, about the chaos that had ensued in the palace the moment he had left. But slowly, looking at the ground, he paced towards her, embraced her in a big bear hug. And the argument was over. Ever since then, King Redmond has been the image of propriety.

I never did wheedle the secret of the Masked Men out of the boys. But because their denials were always far from emphatic, I decided that I could not have merely dreamt it after all. And one day, cleaning up in a turret on the far side of Starcastle Palace, I found a black cloth mask, a cape, and a hairy black moustache. The fate of these I am not going to tell you; suffice to say that time has its revenges. I am sure, after all, that you can guess.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you enjoyed it, but feel free to put forth any criticisms you may have as I wrote this very quickly under time pressure. And finally, _please_ check out the sequel - _The Ivory Peacock_. Perhaps it's boring in comparison - perhaps it's not funny enough - I don't know, but please let me know what you think. Personally, I think the writing style is much better developed than it is here, but that's only my opinion. It's the readers who are important! Peace out, Igi.**


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